*2-  A 


THE    DEATH    CRY 


"Central  declared  that  no  one  had  called." 


THE  DEATH  CRY 


Frontispiece  by 
Eleanor  Howard 


NEW   YORK 

ROBERT  J.   SHORES 
PUBLISHER 


Copyright,  1917,  by 

ROBERT  J.  SHORES,  Publisher 

New  York 


THE    DEATH    CRY 


2136119 


CONTENTS 

Cliapter  Page 

I    THE  EVENING  BEFORE 11 

II     THE  TRAGEDY 36 

III    THE   INQUEST 45 

IV    SUSPICION   67 

V     STRAWS  IN  THE  WIND 78 

VI    THE   ARREST    91 

VII    A  NEWSPAPER   BOMB 102 

VIII    N.  P.'S  SILENCE 114 

IX    AT  1:10   129 

X    RUENNA  150 

XI    THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  GARAGE 159 

XII    MARIECHEN'S  HORSIE 174 

XIII     THE  TRIAL  186 

XIV    THE  TRIAL  CONTINUED   211 

XV    N.  P.'S  RETURN 220 

XVI     THE  IRIS  HEDGE *. 230 

XVII    THE  MAN  IN  THE  GARAGE 241 

XVIII    THE   MOTIVE    .  255 


THE   DEATH  CRY 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  EVENING  BEFORE 

I  remember  perfectly  the  conversation  I  had 
with  the  Cuylers  the  evening  of  the  tragedy,  a 
wonderful  June  night  of  fragrance  and  starlight. 
An  iris  hedge  separates  our  lawn  from  theirs,  and, 
seeing  Eloise  cutting  the  blue  flowers,  I  strolled 
over  to  chat  with  her,  while  N.  P.  finished  the 
evening  paper.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  wedded  to 
his  paper.  The  hottest  night  he  sits  inside  and 
drips,  rather  than  miss  a  single  paragraph. 

Eloise  was  full  of  the  party  she  was  giving 
the  next  day  to  celebrate  Mariechen's  fourth 

birthday. 

11 


12  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"The  cake  came  this  afternoon,"  she  said  hap- 
pily. "It's  a  perfect  beauty.  It  has  little  Kew- 
pies  in  frosting  perched  all  round  the  edge.  I 
know  Mariechen  will  go  wild  when  she  sees  it. 
And  Mrs.  Smith  finished  her  dress  this  afternoon; 
she  looks  like  a  darling  angel  in  it." 

"She  is  so  pretty,"  I  answered,  sympathetically. 
"Wasn't  she  clever  to  combine  her  father's  dark 
eyes  with  your  golden  hair?" 

"I  wish  she'd  taken  more  than  her  eyes  from 
him."  A  little  breath  of  a  sigh  escaped  from 
Mrs.  Cuyler.  "She  isn't  a  bit  like  him  in  disposi- 
tion, and  I  have  such  a  dread  of  her  growing  up 
as  timid  as  I  am.  You'll  have  to  take  us  both  hi 
hand,  Courtney,  and  show  me  how  to  make  her 
self-reliant  like  yourself." 

I  laughed  shortly.  The  idea  of  lovely  Eloise  Cuy- 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  13 

ler  wishing  her  only  child  to  be  like  me  rather 
than  like  her  own  exquisite  self  was  absurd. 

"Her  father  probably  wouldn't  approve  of  such 
a  procedure,"  I  was  saying,  when  Dr.  Cuyler  him- 
self came  out  to  join  us,  his  cigarette  glowing  in 
the  dusk. 

"Of  what  wouldn't  I  approve?"  he  inquired. 
"Certainly  not  of  engaging  Kronig's  orchestra  to 
play  to-morrow.  I  believe  that's  the  only  frill 

'  '      r''-*  !• '  WH*« 

we've  neglected  for  the  kiddie's  ball;  but  I  tell 
Eloise  we  have  to  reserve  something  for  the 
debut." 

Though  he  sometimes  affected  disapproval  of 
his  wife's  open  adoration  of  their  child,  as  far  as 
I  could  see  he  was  every  bit  as  bad  himself.  And 
Mariechen — as  she  had  gradually  evolved  from 
the  Mary  Katherine  which  combined  the  names 


14  THE  DEATH  CRY 

of  both  grandmothers — is  certainly  an  adorable 

baby. 

"Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,  Courtney," 

Eloise  retorted  gayly.  "He  spoils  her  far  more 
than  I  do.  I  wish  you  could  see  the  toys  he's 
bought  for  her  to-morrow — a  beautiful  collie  pup 
besides.  But  you  haven't  observed  the  lovely 
thing  he's  given  me."  She  held  out  her  arm,  and  I 
noticed  for  the  first  tune  a  new  ornament  upon  it, 
a  wonderful  bracelet  of  sapphires  and  diamonds 
set  in  the  new  white  gold.  "Isn't  it  beautiful?  I 
had  to  scold  him  a  little  for  being  so  extravagant, 
but  I  really  am  mad  about  it." 

"To-morrow  isn't  your  birthday,  too,  by  any 
chance?"  I  asked,  admiring  as  I  so  often  did,  with 
a  little  bit  of  secret  envy,  the  lovely  curve  of  her 
arm  as  well  as  the  sparkling  jewels  upon  it. 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  15 

"Oh,  no!  But  you  know  every  year  since  Ma- 
riechen  was  born  Vincent  has  given  me  a  present 
on  the  anniversary.  Isn't  it  a  dear  thing  for  him 
to  do?" 

I  glanced  casually  at  Dr.  Cuyler's  clear  profile 
as  I  assented.  It  was  a  dear  thing  for  him  to  do, 
I  thought,  and  exactly  in  keeping  with  his  tender, 
intense  nature.  I  had  known  Vincent  Cuyler  in 
his  bachelor  days  and  before  he  had  "arrived",  for 
his  emergence  into  the  brilliant  fashionable  phy- 
sician began  about  the  tune  of  his  marriage.  Eloise 
I  had  known  only  since  her  marriage  and  then  just 
in  a  casual  way  up  until  a  year  ago  when  the  Cuy- 
lers  bought  the  place  next  to  us.  But  it  was  plain 
from  the  beginning  that  she  was  the  one  woman 
in  the  world  for  him  and  as  I  knew  her  more  inti- 
mately I  came  to  take  a  vicarious  satisfaction  in 


16  THE  DEATH  CRY 

their  happiness.  In  spite  of  all  the  bosh  about 
soul  mates  and  affinities,  one  does  occasionally  see 
two  shining  personalities  whom  God  hath  joined 
together,  even  in  a  perverse  old  world  like  this. 

But  I  am  rambling  away  from  my  subject  and 
on  a  fruitless  trail  for  my  own  very  positive  opin- 
ion as  to  the  felicity  of  the  Cuyler's  married  life 
didn't  amount  to  a  row  of  pins  at  the  tune  it  was 
needed.  So  to  return  to  facts. 

Darkness  had  fallen  upon  us  as  we  talked  and 
just  here  I  distinctly  remember  Dr.  Cuyler's  ex- 
claiming: 

"Eloise,  are  you  getting  chilly?  I  thought  I 
felt  you  shiver."  He  touched  the  sheer  organdy 
of  her  frock  inquiringly.  'Tour  sleeve  feels  damp. 
I'll  go  into  the  house  and  get  you  a  wrap.  That 
dress  you  have  on  is  as  flimsy  as  a  surgical  gauze." 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  17 

"Oh,  no,"  she  detained  him  laughingly.  "I'm 
not  cold,  dear,  really  I'm  not.  I  don't  know  what 
made  me  shiver.  Somebody  must  have  stepped  on 
my  grave,  I  guess." 

"Why  don't  you  come  up  and  sit  on  our  porch?" 
I  suggested.  "N.  P.  won't  be  through  with  his  pa- 
per for  another  hour  and  I'm  pining  for  good  so- 
ciety." 

Dr.  Cuyler  was  ready  to  accept  my  invitation, 
but  Eloise  hesitated  over  it. 

"There  are  several  things  I  still  have  to  do  for 
tomorrow — packages  to  tie  up,  you  know.  And 
I'm  a  little  tired  anyway;  so  I  think  I'd  better  go 
in."  Then,  gracious  as  always,  she  added  to  the 
Doctor.  "You  go  and  sit  with  Courtney  awhile. 
I  know  you'll  enjoy  a  visit  with  her." 

It  was  her  husband's  turn  to  hesitate.    "I  did 


18  THE  DEATH  CRY 

want  to  talk  with  Mrs.  Temple  tonight.  Several 
things  have  come  up  about  the  Detention  Home. 
Perhaps  I  will  go  over  for  a  half  an  hour.  Sure 
you  won't  mind,  Sweet?" 

"No,  indeed.  I'd  love  to  have  you,  really  I 
would.  Go  right  along."  Her  hand  caressed  his 
coat  sleeve  reassuringly.  "Goodnight,  Courtney. 
Don't  forget  to  come  over  early  tomorrow,  please. 
I'm  counting  so  much  on  your  helping  me,  es- 
pecially with  the  little  boys." 

Fair  and  sweet,  she  moved  across  the  grass,  a 
wraithlike  figure  with  her  lovely  hair  and  bare 
white  throat  and  arms  gleaming  through  the  dark. 
Unconsciously  both  her  husband  and  I  followed 
her  with  eyes  of  admiration.  If  I  had  known 
then — but  the  Doctor  was  speaking, 

"A  'wonderful  clear  night  of  stars',  isn't  it?" 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  19 

he  quoted,  with  an  upward  glance  at  the  flashing 
golden  galaxy.  "It's  a  sin  to  sit  under  a  roof." 

"Let's  don't  do  it  then,"  I  jumped  quickly  with 
his  mood. 

The  Cuyler's  yard  is  a  bit  lower  than  ours  and 
we  have  had  a  couple  of  steps  built  in  the  shallow 
terrace  as  a  short  cut  between  the  two  lawns.  I 
sat  down  on  the  top  step  and  invited  him  to  join 
me. 

"Sure  it  won't  be  too  damp  for  you?"  he  asked 
courteously. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "Hardly.  I'm  as 
tough  as  a  pine  knot,  you  know." 

"That's  what  your  athletics  do  for  you."  His 
hand  touched  my  warm  arm  as  he  folded  himself 
up  on  the  lower  step.  "Superb  circulation."  It 
was  the  Doctor,  not  the  man  who  spoke.  "I  waa 


20  THE  DEATH  CRY 

going  to  offer  you  my  coat  but  apparently  you 
don't  need  it.  I  wish  you  could  coax  Eloise  out  to 
golf  with  you,"  he  went  on.  "She  doesn't  get  as 
much  exercise  as  she  should.  Her  garden  is  about 
the  only  interest  she  has  that  keeps  her  out  in  the 
open." 

"Eloise  isn't  the  type  for  athletics.  You  might 
as  easily  imagine  the  Blessed  Damozel  in  sport 
clothes." 

"Isn't  that  just  like  a  woman?"  he  derided  my 
remark.  "I'm  not  thinking  of  her  appearance,  but 
of  her  health.  Besides,"  he  added  with  naivete 
that  was  charming,  "I  think  she's  beautiful  in  any- 
thing she  wears!  However — "  and  he  plunged  in- 
to the  problem  in  the  Detention  Home  that  was 
pressing  on  him  at  the  moment. 

Hand  in  hand  with  his  fashionable  practice  Dr, 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  21 

Cuyler  kept  up  a  vast  amount  of  charitable  work. 
Eloise  always  furthered  him  in  this,  mothering  the 
strays,  befriending  the  Magdalines  and  playing 
Lady  Bountiful  to  all  the  poor  old  men  and  wo- 
men her  husband  would  let  her  know  about.  He 
had  to  draw  the  line  somewhere,  he  used  to  say,  for 
Eloise  never  would,  and  her  heart  and  purse  were 
continually  being  wrung  by  some  poor  creature  in 
distress.  The  impish  little  rascals  in  the  Deten- 
tion Home  were  about  the  only  ones  her  loving 
charity  could  not  compass.  Bad  boys,  she  regret- 
fully admitted,  were  beyond  her  ken.  And  this  is 
where  I  came  in  strong.  I've  always  had  an  im- 
mense amount  of  interest  and  sympathy  for  little 
gutter  snipes  and  somehow  those  troublesome  pro- 
teges of  Dr.  Cuyler's  took  to  me  and  I  to  them. 
I  think  it  was  a  combination  of  the  Blue  Jay, 


22  THE  DEATH  CRY 

my  fast  blue  roadster,  "V.  V.",  the  white  bull  ter- 
rier that  always  rides  along,  and  the  fact  that  I 
can  pitch  ball  and  pitch  straight,  that  first  inclined 
their  calloused  young  hearts  toward  me.  Any- 
how, whenever  they  are  particularly  obstreperous 
and  whenever  there  is  a  row  on  between  them  and 
the  matron,  or  trouble  with  the  trustees,  Dr.  Cuy- 
ler  invariably  calls  on  me  to  go  and  mix  up  in  it. 
I'm  explaining  all  this  now  in  order  that  it  may 
be  understood  later  how  unjust  were  the  news- 
paper insinuations. 

It  was  a  particularly  poignant  situation  that  he 
laid  before  me  that  night  but  though  we  were  both 
tremendously  interested  in  the  topic,  neither  of  us 
lost  sight  of  the  time,  and  I  know  that  we  did 
not  sit  out  there  more  than  three  quarters  of  an 
hour.  Dr.  Cuyler  had  Eloise  on  his  mind  for  she 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  23 

was  alone  in  the  house  except  for  Mariechen ;  and 
in  the  light  that  streamed  through  the  open 
French  windows  of  our  library  I  could  see  from 
the  sheets  of  paper  littered  around  him  that  N.  P. 
was  nearing  the  close  of  his  evening  stunt. 

He  was  on  the  last  page  when  I  went  into  the 
house  to  join  him,  his  big  bulk  stodged  into  a 
leather  chair.  He  had  all  the  lights  blazing  and 
the  room  was  like  a  furnace,  but  though  his  face 
was  terribly  red  and  moist  he  looked  up  to  greet 
me  with  his  usual  easy  smile. 

"Been  having  a  chat  with  the  Cuylers?"  he  in- 
quired comfortably.  There  is  nothing  that  gives 
N.  P.  quite  such  a  satisfied  feeling  as  to  know  that 
I  am  enjoying  myself  without  his  being  directly 
responsible  for  my  pleasure.  "Why  didn't  they 
come  in?" 


24  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"Oh,  Eloise  is  getting  ready  for  the  party  and 
she  had  some  last  things  to  do.  Mercy,  N.  P.,  it's 
hot  in  here!  I  don't  see  how  you  stand  it.  Come 
out  on  the  porch  and  cool  off  before  you  have  a 
stroke  of  apoplexy." 

"It  is  warm,"  he  conceded  mildly  as  though  it 
hadn't  occurred  to  him  before.  "I  was  absorbed  in 
this  Mexican  business  and  I  didn't  seem  to  no- 
tice. Whew!  I'm  thirsty.  Do  you  suppose  that 
darky  has  left  any  beer  on  the  ice?" 

"That  darky,"  America  Parker,  the  black  auto- 
crat who  has  kept  house  for  "Mr.  Nat"  since  his 
bachelor  days  and  who  rules  our  household  with  a 
rod  of  iron,  makes  no  distinction  between  meum 
and  teum  in  the  kitchen,  so  I  never  know  how 
much  of  what  I  put  there  I  may  count  on  for  my 
own. 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  25 

But  I  must  be  very  exact  from  now  on  as  to  the 
incidents  that  led  up  to  the  discovery  of  that  aw- 
ful night.  We  had  found  a  couple  of  bottles  on 
the  ice  and  N.  P.  was  just  applying  the  cork- 
screw when  we  were  startled  by  a  woman's  scream, 
a  terrible  piercing  scream  that  rose  and  wavered 
and  fell  and  rose  again  in  a  kind  of  shuddering 
moan. 

"For  the  Lord's  sake!" 

N.  P.  is  about  as  easy  to  excite  as  the  Rock  of 
Gibraltar,  but  that  ghastly  scream  stirred  even 
him.  He  laid  the  corkscrew  down  and  stared  at 
me. 

"Something  terrible  has  happened,"  I  gasped 
and  started  to  my  feet.  "That  was  Eloise'  voice ! 
Come  on,  N.  P." 

We  hurried  out  of  the  house  with  one  accord 


26  THE  DEATH  CRY 

and  started  toward  the  Cuylers'.  They  were  il- 
luminated upstairs  and  down  but  there  was  no 
sign  of  any  disturbance  over  there.  No  second 
harrowing  scream  followed  the  first.  Nothing 
broke  the  silence  of  our  quiet  neighborhood  but 
the  lively  music  of  some  frogs  in  the  park  across 
the  street.  Out  in  the  peaceful  night  N.  P.  was  in- 
clined to  doubt  the  evidence  of  our  ears. 

"Seems  perfectly  quiet  over  there,"  he  paused 
to  remark.  "I  guess  there's  nothing  much  the  mat- 
ter after  all.  Maybe  Mrs.  Cuyler  had  the  night- 
mare." 

We  waited  uncertainly  for  a  few  minutes  but  I 
could  not  feel  satisfied  to  go  hi  without  knowing 
that  everything  was  all  right  at  the  Cuylers'. 

"Let's  just  go  over  and  inquire,  anyway,"  I  sug- 
gested. "We  don't  have  to  go  in,  you  know,  and 
I  don't  believe  they've  gone  to  bed." 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  27 

"Well,  wait  till  I  light  my  pipe,"  N.  P.  said  re- 
signedly. His  interest  in  the  scream  had  died 
away  with  his  own  explanation  of  it.  He  fiddled 
around  with  one  match  after  another,  but  finally 
I  got  him  started.  As  we  crossed  the  lawn  the 
doctor  himself  appeared  upon  his  porch. 

"Oh,  what  was  the  matter?"  I  cried  to  him. 
"Has  anything  happened  to  Eloise?" 

Dr.  Cuyler  stepped  down  to  speak  to  us,  and  in 
the  glare  of  the  porch  light  his  face  had  a  strained, 
almost  an  embarrassed  look. 

"You  heard  her  scream?"  he  inquired.  "I  was 
afraid  you  would  and  that  you'd  think  we'd  caught 
a  burglar,  so  I  came  out  to  reassure  you.  There's 
nothing  wrong,  only  Eloise  had  a  bad  fright,  and 
it's  shaken  her  up  a  bit." 

"What  in  the  world?" 


28  THE  DEATH  CRY 

'. 

"Only  a  harmless  snake;  but  you  know,  Mrs. 
Temple,  how  the  sight  of  one  always  terrifies  her. 
This  one  got  into  the  house  in  some  mysterious 
fashion  and  Eloise  discovered  it  crawling  out  from 
under  the  davenport.  When  she  looked  down  and 
saw  it  wriggling  so  near  her  foot  she  nearly  had 
hysterics.  She  was  pretty  well  tired  out  tonight, 
anyway,"  this  last  addressed  apologeticaly  to  my 
husband. 

"No  wonder  she  screamed,"  I  said  with  empha- 
sis, for  men  are  so  superior  about  these  things. 
"She  has  a  perfect  horror  of  snakes,  I  know.  Did 
you  kill  it?  Where  do  you  suppose  it  came  from?" 

"Probably  from  that  vacant  lot  next  door.  I've 
been  trying  all  summer  to  get  the  owner  to  cut 
those  weeds.  Yes,  I  killed  it  and  threw  it  back  in- 
to the  lot.  That  place  is  a  regular  nuisance.  I'll 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  29 

see  old  Timmons  about  it  in  the  morning.  It's 
lucky  for  us  you're  our  only  near  neighbors,  or 
we'd  have  had  a  swarm  of  excited  females  about 
our  ears  by  now.  Sorry  we  kicked  up  such  a  dis- 
turbance." 

"I'm  sorry  Mrs.  Cuyler's  had  such  a  shock  to  her 
nerves,"  my  husband  said  in  his  kindest  voice. 
"Sure  there's  nothing  we  can  do  for  her?" 

"Nothing,  thank  you.  I've  given  her  a  dose  of 
veronal  and  she's  lying  on  the  couch.  I'll  put  her 
to  bed  in  a  few  minutes  and  she'll  be  all  right  after 
a  night's  rest.  Awfully  kind  of  you  to  come  over 
though." 

As  I  write  this  I'm  taxing  my  mind  to  see  if  I 
had  detected  the  slightest  hint  in  his  manner  of 
anything  wrong.  For  the  life  of  me  I  can't  re- 
member anything.  There  was  regret  for  his  wife's 


30  THE  DEATH  CRY 

fright,  perhaps  a  slight  trace  of  annoyance  at  the 
commotion  they  had  caused.  But  other  than  that 
— well,  I  never  was  renowned  for  my  perceptivity, 
and  blessed  old  N.  P.'s  mind  is  a  logical  rather 
than  an  intuitive  one. 

We  said  goodnight  and  returned  to  our  inter- 
rupted crackers  and  beer.  About  an  hour  later,, 
I  should  imagine  it  was,  at  any  rate  I  was  in 
bed  and  nearly  asleep  and  N.  P.  was  fussing 
with  his  studs  in  his  clean  shirt  for  the  morning, 
we  heard  the  doctor's  car  being  run  out  of  the 
garage,  and  then  set  off  at  a  lively  clip  up  the 
street. 

"A  call,  I  suppose,"  N.  P.  observed  from  his 
place  at  the  chiffonier.  "Glad  I'm  not  a  doctor. 
Pretty  tough  after  a  hard  day's  work  to  be  routed 
out  at  this  time  of  night  to  ease  up  some  old 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  31 

lady's  asthma  or  to  help  a  new  voter  into  the 
world." 

"It's  hard  on  Eloise,  too,"  I  murmured  sleepily. 
"She's  not  in  very  good  condition  to  be  left  alone 
after  the  shock  she  had  this  evening.  I  wonder 
if  I  hadn't  better  call  her  up  and  see  if  she'd  like 
me  to  stay  with  her  until  after  the  doctor  gets 
back." 

"Where  are  the  maids?" 

"Gone  to  a  sister's  wedding,  or  something." 

"Both  of  them?  I  thought  the  reason  Cuyler 
wasn't  willing  to  have  that  married  couple  sleep 
in  the  garage  was  because  he  wanted  Mrs.  Cuyler 
always  to  have  someone  in  the  house  with  her 
for  just  such  occasions." 

"He  did,  but  you  know  Eloise."  We  both 
laughed  indulgently.  "She'd  sacrifice  herself  any 


32  THE  DEATH  CRY 

time  to  make  somebody  else  happy.  And  this  was 
a  very  special  affair,  I  believe — fried  chicken  and 
a  lace  veil  and  a  wedding  cake." 

"Oh,  well,  I  guess  they'd  call  up  if  they  wanted 
us.  Mrs.  Cuyler's  probably  asleep,  and  the  tele- 
phone might  startle  her."  N.  P.  dismissed  the 
subject  easily,  and  as  I  was  half  asleep  I  yielded 
to  his  viewpoint.  Bitterly  did  I  repent  my  deci- 
sion later!  Oh,  for  foresight  instead  of  hind- 
sight! 

Some  time  in  the  night  I  was  awakened  by  the 
shrill,  persistent  sound  of  the  telephone.  N.  P. 
was  sleeping  heavily,  and  as  if  in  obedience  to 
some  imperative  demand  I  stumbled  out  of  bed, 
instead  of  awakening  him  as  I  usually  do  when 
the  phone  rings  at  night,  and  ran  to  answer  it 
myself.  The  sound  of  Mr.  Cuyler's  voice,  loud 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  33 

and  shaken  with  emition,  roused  me  with  a  ven- 
geance. 

"Mrs.  Temple?  Is  your  husband  there?"  he 
called.  "This  is  Cuyler.  Tell  him  to  come  over 
at  once,  for  God's  sake!"  and  hung  up  the  receiver 
before  I  could  answer  a  word. 

I  went  back  and  shook  N.  P.  into  conscious- 
ness. 

"Hurry!  Hurry!"  I  implored  him  frantically. 
"There  is  something  terribly  wrong  over  at  the 
Cuylers'.  The  doctor  has  just  called  up  and  asked 
for  you  to  come  over  at  once." 

I  was  struggling  into  kimona  and  slippers  as  I 
spoke,  and  by  the  tune  N.  P.  was  sufficiently  clad 
I  was  ready  too. 

I  clutched  his  arm,  and  with  an  ominous  dread 
at  our  hearts  we  raced  across  the  lawn.  The  front 


34  THE  DEATH  CRY 

door  was  unlocked,  and  there  was  a  light  burning 
in  the  hall,  but  no  one  was  downstairs.  From 
above  I  could  hear  a  curious  gasping  sound.  It 
ceased,  and  everything  was  silent.  N.  P.  halted 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  looked  up  frown- 
ingly. 

"Courtney,  you  better  wait  here.  I'll  go  up 
first  and  see." 

I  usually  do  as  N  .  P.  says  when  he  speaks  like 
that;  but  Eloise's  hysterical  scream  over  the  snake 
had  stirred  me  up  a  bit,  and  some  unreasonable 
dread  for  her  clutched  at  my  heart,  so  I  could  not 
lag  behind. 

We  went  up  the  steps  abreast,  and  just  as  we 
reached  the  top  that  strangling  moan  came  again. 
It  seemed  to  issue  from  the  front  bedroom,  which 
belonged  to  Eloise,  and  we  turned  in  that  direc- 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  35 

tion.  Just  outside  the  door  N.  P.  tripped  on  a 
hanging  shoelace,  so  it  was  I  who  turned  the  knob 
and  looked  in  upon  that  tragedy. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  TRAGEDY 

In  thinking  it  out  afterwards,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  could  have  stood  the  horror  better  if  it  had 
not  happened  in  Eloise's  own  blue  boudoir;  that  it 
would  have  been  a  degree  less  frightful  in  any 
other  room  in  the  house.  But  to  stumble  upon 
a  sight  so  revolting  in  that  dainty  place  of  ivory 
woodwork  and  furniture,  of  soft  blue  draperies 
and  rugs,  where  even  the  filmy  neglige*  across  the 
chaise  longue  breathed  of  its  beautiful  owner — 
Ugh!  my  brain  curdles  at  the  recollection. 

In  the  intimacy  of  that  feminine  atmosphere 
Dr.  Cuyler's  big  frame  loomed  dark  and  virile.  He 

36 


THE  TRAGEDY  37 

was  leaning  against  the  wall,  his  hands  clenched 
at  his  sides,  his  eyes  riveted  to  the  bed.  Even 
as  I  entered,  there  burst  from  his  lips  that  strange 
choking  groan  I  had  heard  before.  I  followed 
the  direction  of  his  wild  gaze — 0  Eloise,  Eloise! 
Even  yet  I  can  scarcely  believe  it  was  you,  dear, 
that  I  saw! 

She  lay  across  the  edge  of  the  bed,  her  feet 
resting  upon  the  floor.  She  was  in  her  nightgown, 
and  the  lacy  garment  was  torn  and  stained  with 
blood.  I  fought  down  a  wild  desire  to  shriek. 
There  were  bruises  on  her  delicate  throat  and 
shoulder;  the  bright  veil  of  her  hair  was  clotted 
with  blood — the  whole  left  side  of  her  head  had 

been  crushed  in. 

»        *        *        »        * 

I  don't  know  how  I  long  I  stood  there  staring, 


38  THE  DEATH  CRY 

watching  the  slow  drip,  drip  of  the  red  stream  that 
flowed  sluggishly  down  the  white  counterpane. 

It  was  N.  P.'s  hand  on  my  arm  that  roused 
me  at  last. 

"Don't,  Courtney.  Don't  look  at  her!  Doctor, 
for  God's  sake!  Why  don't  you  do  something?" 

He  took  a  step  toward  the  bed,  as  though  to 
lift  the  inert  figure  lying  there.  The  doctor  was 
upon  him  with  one  spring. 

"Don't  touch  her!"  he  commanded.  "There's 
nothing  you  can  do  or  I  can  do.  She's  dead — 
quite  dead.  Don't  you  suppose  I  made  sure  of 
that  before  I  called  you?  She'd  dead,  dead — " 
his  voice  broke. 

It  was  obvious  that  life  had  indeed  left  that 
beautiful  body.  N.  P.  suddenly  revised  his  first  in- 
clination. Still  keeping  his  hold  on  me,  he  linked 


THE  TRAGEDY  39 

his  other  arm  in  Dr.  Cuyler's  and  led  us  both  to- 
ward the  door. 

"I'll  call  for  help,"  he  said.  "Better  wait  out- 
side while  I  do  it." 

My  gaze  clung  to  the  room.  It  was  not  much 
disordered,  but  a  chair  was  overturned,  and  I 
noticed  a  clump  of  iris  lying  in  some  water  on 
the  floor.  Radiant  with  life,  Eloise  had  held  some 
of  those  same  heavenly  blue  flowers  in  her  hands 
as  I  talked  with  her  a  few  hours  ago,  and  now — ! 

"Wait  a  minute,  N.  P.,"  I  urged  him  at  the 
door.  "I  can't  go  and  leave  her  like  this.  Surely 
there  must  be  something  I  can  do  for  her." 

N.  P.  shoved  me  gently  into  the  hall  and  closed 
the  door  behind  us. 

"I'm  going  to  call  Dr.  Penrose  and  the  police. 
Stay  here  while  I  do  it." 


40  THE  DEATH  CRY 

I  waited  in  the  silent,  dimlit  hall,  my  heart 
pounding  furiously  against  my  ribs.  I  heard  my 
husband  call  the  different  numbers  in  quick  suc- 
cession. Presently  he  tiptoed  downstairs  to  admit 
someone.  There  was  the  sound  of  low  voices  and 
the  clanging  of  the  ambulance  away  down  the 
street. 

As  the  men  began  to  ascend  the  stairs  I  beat 
a  hasty  retreat  into  Mariechen's  pink  and  white 
nest  across  the  hall.  Oddly  enough,  this  was  the 
first  time  the  thought  of  her  had  occurred  to  any 
of  us.  She  was  fast  asleep  and  did  not  waken 
when  I  bent  over  her.  She  was  sprawled  across  her 
litle  bed  hi  the  blessed,  abandoned  sleep  of  child- 
hood, oblivious  to  all  that  had  transpired.  A  bat- 
tered elephant  reposed  close  to  her  curly  head; 
one  dimpled  hand  clutched  a  weather-beaten 
Teddy  bear. 


THE  TRAGEDY  41 

She  had  kicked  the  sheet  entirely  off,  and  the 
cool  night  air  was  blowing  straight  across  her.  I 
stooped  to  tuck  her  in,  and  as  I  recalled  how 
often  I  had  seen  her  tender  mother  bending  over 
the  same  task,  the  iron  band  around  my  heart 
relaxed,  and  to  my  own  great  surprise,  I  burst  into 
wild  sobs. 

Mariechen  awoke  at  once  with  a  frightened 
baby  wail,  and  I  reproached  myself  for  my  lack 
of  self-control.  By  the  time  I  had  hushed  her  to 
sleep  again,  the  house  was  astir  with  many  people 
coming  and  going  hurriedly,  but  with  lowered, 
shocked  voices.  N.  P.  came  in  soon  after  that, 
and  advised  me  to  go  home  and  take  Mariechen 
with  me. 

"There  is  nothing  you  can  do  here.  She  is 
beyond  help,  as  Dr.  Cuyler  said,  and  nothing  can 


* 

42  THE  DEATH  CRY 

be  touched  until  the  coroner  comes.  I'll  carry 
the  child  over  for  you,  and  then  I'll  stay  with  the 
doctor  till  morning." 

"What  have  you  found  out?"  I  asked  anxiously. 

"Absolutely  nothing,"  N.  P.  replied,  with  a 
stern,  sober  face.  "It  is  all  wrapped  in  mystery. 
Cuyler  came  home  from  his  call  and  found — what 
you  saw.  He's  almost  in  a  collapse,  and  I  haven't 
talked  with  him  much.  Dr.  Penrose  has  him  in 
charge  at  present.  Hurry,  Courtney.  I  want  to 
take  you  away  from  here." 

I  wrapped  Mariechen  in  a  blanket  and  put  her 
in  N.  P.'s  arms.  We  made  our  way  down  the 
back  stairs  and  out  at  the  side  door.  She  did 
not  waken  again  until  I  had  her  settled  in  my 
own  bed,  and  then  only  to  call  for  "Muwer"  in 
a  sleepy  voice. 


I 

THE  TRAGEDY  43 

"Yes,  precious.  You're  all  right  now  with  Auntie 
Court.  Shut  your  eyes  and  go  to  sleep." 

N.  P.  had  carried  her  upstairs  for  me,  but  he 
was  in  a  hurry  to  be  back  at  the  Cuylers'.  I 
caught  him  by  the  tail  of  his  coat  just  as  he  was 
tiptoeing  out  of  the  room. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  I  whispered.  "Oh,  N.  P.,  I 
can't  bear  to  have  you  back  over  there." 

It  was  a  curious  thing  that  while  I  was  at  the 
Cuylers'  no  fear  had  touched  me — only  a  dumb 
horror  of  that  which  had  happened  to  my  friend. 
But  now  I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  my  hus- 
band going  back  to  that  tragic  house. 

"Nonsense,  Courtney,"  he  began,  but  at  the 
sight  of  my  face  in  the  lighted  hall  he  instantly 
changed  his  tone. 

"Why,  child,  you  needn't  be  the  least  afraid. 


44  THE  DEATH  CRY 

There's  no  danger  over  there  now.  The  brute, 
whoever  it  was,  is  as  far  away  by  this  time  as  his 
heels  will  carry  him." 

He  patted  my  shoulder  consolingly,  and  I  was 
half  ashamed  of  my  anxiety.  But  if  I  had  known 
then  what  I  was  to  know  later,  no  amount  of 
argument  would  have  lulled  my  fears  to  rest. 

"If  you  feel  nervous  you'd  better  have  America 
down  here  with  you  until  I  get  back." 

He  went  into  the  back  hall  and  called  up  lustily 
to  the  third  floor.  America  usually  sleeps  like 
a  log.  I  don't  think  the  trump  of  Gabriel  would 
awaken  her,  but  "Mr.  Nat's"  stentorian  "Hi  there, 
America!"  always  does.  He  waited  until  he  heard 
her  creaking  down  the  stairs,  then  he  kissed  me 
and  departed,  leaving  me  to  horrible  recollections 
for  the  rest  of  the  night. 


CHAPTER  HI 

THE  INQUEST 

The  sun  was  already  up,  and  birds  were  singing 
ecstatically  when  my  husband  came  back  home. 
In  the  radiant  morning  light  his  face  looked  drawn 
and  grey,  and  his  grim  expression  made  the  sun- 
shine seem  a  travesty.  I'd  been  watching  for  him 
to  come  across  the  lawn  and  I  was  down  at  the 
door  to  meet  him. 

"Have  you  come  home  to  stay?"  I  asked.  "And 
wouldn't  you  like  some  breakfast?" 

He  assented  wearily.  Without  asking  any  fur- 
ther questions  I  led  him  into  the  dining  room. 
One  thing  I've  learned  in  the  nine  years  of  my 

45 


46  THE  DETTH  CRY 

married  life — and  I  know  my  lesson  perfectly — I 
never  bother  N.  P.  with  questions  when  he  is 
hungry  or  tired  or  worried. 

By  the  time  he  had  had  fruit  and  cereal  and 
a  second  cup  of  coffee  his  pleasant  mouth  had 
relaxed  into  its  natural  lines,  and  he  began  to  look 
a  little  more  like  himself. 

"Feeling  better?"  I  inquired. 

"George!  I  feel  as  if  I'd  waked  up  from  a 
nightmare,"  he  answered.  "To  come  to  all  this," 
he  motioned  around  the  sunny  dining  room,  "and 
to  see  you  at  the  table  just  the  same — "  his 
face  clouded  again.  "Poor  Cuyler!  It  might 
have  been  my  wife  instead  of  his." 

"How  is  he?"  I  plunged  eagerly  into  the  open- 
ing he  gave  me. 

"Like  a  man  in  a  trance.    You  never  saw  any- 


THE  INQUEST  47 

thing  so  pitiable.  It's  natural,  of  course.  But 
it  makes  him  seem — unnatural,  somehow."  N.  P. 
struggled  inarticulately  to  convey  his  meaning, 
but  abandoned  it  as  a  bad  job. 

"The  funeral  arrangements  can't  be  made  until 
we  hear  from  Mrs.  Cuyler's  mother.  I've  sent  her  a 
succession  of  telegrams,  breaking  the  news,  and  we 
ought  to  have  an  answer  soon,"  he  went  on  more 
coherently,  finding  himself  on  firmer  ground.  "The 
police  have  the  rest  in  charge.  Cuyler's  going  to 
offer  a  reward  for  the  apprehension  of  the  mur- 
derer. We  haven't  decided  on  the  amount  yet. 
I  told  him  I'd  think  it  over  and  let  him  know 
later.  Poor  old  chap ;  he  seems  to  rely  on  me  for 
everything." 

Dozens  of  questions  came  tripping  to  my  lips, 


48  THE  DEATH  CRY 

and  we  fell  into  a  prolonged  discussion  of  the  af- 
fair. 

"There'll  be  an  inquest,  you  know,"  N.  P.  in- 
formed me,  "this  afternoon  at  three  o'clock;  and 
you  and  I  will  both  have  to  testify." 

It  had  an  appalling  sound  to  me.  I  dreaded  it 
at  the  tune,  but  as  I  look  back  at  it  now,  after  all 
I've  been  through,  a  coroner's  inquest  seems  a 
comparatively  simple  matter. 

I  can't  stop  to  speak  of  those  ghastly  hours  I 
put  in  at  the  Cuylers'  that  morning.  Somebody 
had  to  take  the  house  in  charge,  and  it  was  N.  P.'s 
own  suggestion  that  I  go  over  and  do  what  I  could. 
There  were  older  women,  of  course,  and  just  as 
intimate  friends  of  the  Cuylers,  who  would  have 
been  glad  to  show  their  sympathy  in  that  way,  but 
I  was  right  there  next  door.  It  seemed  so  obvi- 


I 


THE  INQUEST  49 

ously  "up  to  me"  that  it  is  hard  to  realize  even 
yet  that  gossip  could  have  made  capital  out  of 
my  friendly  ministrations. 

The  colored  servants  were  in  a  panic  and  had 
to  be  set  to  work.  There  were  innumerable  in- 
quiries at  the  door  and  at  the  telephone  to  be 
answered.  I  only  saw  the  doctor  for  a  few  minutes 
when  I  carried  a  tray  of  breakfast  to  him.  He 
kept  himself  immured  upstairs,  but  I  coaxed  him 
out  on  the  upper  verandah  long  enough  to  drink 
a  cup  of  coffee. 

A  telegram  came  from  his  mother-in-law,  Mrs. 
Wilding,  while  I  was  out  there,  and  he  turned 
it  over  to  me,  asking  that  N.  P.  make  the  funeral 
arrangements  for  the  following  afternoon.  I  felt 
dismissed,  and  yet  I  couldn't  bear  to  leave  him 
there  alone.  I  made  some  tentative  suggestions 


50  THE  DEATH  CRY 

as  to  his  seeing  Mariechen,  but  he  demurred  very 
positively. 

"I  cannot  be  away  from  here,  and  I  do  not 
want  her  brought  back  to  the  house.  If  you  will 
keep  her  with  you  for  the  present  it  will  be  a 
great  kindness." 

Of  course  I  assured  him  of  my  willingness  to  do 
so.  We  talked  of  the  child  a  moment,  and  I  was 
just  about  to  go  when  Dr.  Cuyler  surprised  me 
with  a  question. 

"Will  you  come  and  see  her  a  moment?"  I  knew 
that  he  referred  to  Eloise.  Remembering  the  night 
before,  I  could  barely  repress  a  shudder  at  the 
thought  of  entering  that  room  again.  Afterwards 
I  was  glad  that  I  had  gone. 

The  coroner's  visit  concluded,  skilled  hands  had 
taken  the  place  in  charge,  and  there  was  nothing 


THE  INQUEST  51 

in  the  blue  boudoir  now  to  shock  the  sense.  The 
shades  were  only  partly  drawn,  and  the  pleasant 
subdued  light  filtered  through  the  open  windows. 
Someone  had  replaced  the  iris  in  a  slender  vase. 
Their  sweet,  insistent  fragrance  permeated  the  air. 
The  room  looked  just  as  I  had  seen  it  many  times 
except  for  the  white,  still  figure  on  the  couch. 
They  had  swathed  the  upper  part  of  her  head  with 
tulle,  I  observed  with  gratitude,  and  her  face  was 
as  beautiful  and  natural  as  if  she  were  just  asleep. 
She  looked  like  some  serene,  lovely  statue,  and  I 
wondered,  as  I  looked  at  her  with  a  great  lump 
swelling  in  my  throat,  how  anyone  could  have 
wished  to  harm  her,  so  fair,  so  gentle,  so  sweet. 
Dr.  Cuyler  stood  beside  me  in  silence.  Only  when 
I  stooped  down  to  kiss  the  soft  curve  of  her  throat 
I  heard  the  swift  intake  of  his  breath. 


52  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"Thank  you,  Mrs.  Temple,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  as  I  turned  with  tear-blinded  eyes  to  leave 
the  room.  "You  have  made  her  seem  almost  her- 
self to  me  again." 

I  parted  with  him  at  the  door  and  did  not  see 
hun  again  until  the  inquest  was  held  that  after- 
noon. It  was  not  to  be  until  three  o'clock,  so  I 
had  tune  to  go  back  home  and  arrange  my  house- 
hold affairs.  N.  P.  came  to  luncheon,  and  later 
he  escorted  me  again  to  the  house  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hedge. 

The  inquest  was  to  be  held  in  the  library,  and 
the  coroner  and  his  jury  and  several  of  the  neigh- 
bors were  already  there  when  we  arrived.  The 
florist's  wagon  had  just  driven  away,  and  the 
house  was  perfumed  with  heliotrope  and  roses.  A 
fresh  sheaf  of  Eloise's  iris  had  been  brought  in 


THE  INQUEST  53 

from  the  garden  and  lay  in  a  cerulean  heap  on  the 
hall  table.  The  doctor  was  not  down,  but  when 
everyone  else  had  arrived,  the  coroner  sent  a 
message  upstairs  requesting  Dr.  Cuyler's  pres- 
ence. He  came  in,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left,  and  took  the  chair  next  to  my  hus- 
band. N.  P.  held  out  a  sympathetic  hand,  but 
the  doctor  did  not  see  it.  N.  P.  thrust  it  into  his 
pocket  and  looked  about  him  with  what  he  be- 
lieved to  be  an  air  of  unconcern. 

The  coroner,  a  man  named  Beeman,  rose  and 
gave  a  nervous  explanation  of  the  purpose  and 
method  of  conducting  an  inquest.  He  was  twist- 
ing his  watch-chain  agitatedly  as  he  talked,  and  he 
spoke  in  so  low  a  voice  that  I  heard  him  with 
difficulty  across  the  room.  But  as  he  began  the 


54  THE  DEATH  CRY 

examination  of  witnesses  he  regained  his  com- 
posure, and  things  moved  forward  briskly. 

Dr.  Cuyler  was  the  first  witness  called.  His 
pallor  was  startling,  and  his  eyes  looked  like  burnt- 
out  coals.  In  a  lifeless  voice  he  related  all  he 
knew  of  the  night's  tragedy. 

"I  was  called  to  see  a  patient  about  twelve 
o'clock.  I  left  my  wife  sleeping  under  the  effects 
of  a  dose  of  veronal  which  I  had  given  her  an 
hour  before.  She  had  had  a  bit  of  a  fright  and 
was  nervous.  I  was  gone  an  hour,  perhaps  longer. 
I  did  not  notice  the  time  when  I  left  my  patient, 
but  it  was  one  o'clock  when  I  stopped  in  a  drug 
store  to  leave  a  prescription  on  my  way  home. 
I  was  in  the  drug  store  about  fifteen  minutes,  and 
it  may  have  been  half-past-one  when  I  arrived 
home.  I  put  my  machine  in  the  garage  and  let 


THE  INQUEST  55 

myself  in  with  my  night  key  at  the  front  door. 
The  light  in  the  hall — a  two-candle  power  bulb  we 
use  when  I  am  out — was  burning  as  I  had  left  it. 

"The  house  was  perfectly  silent  as  I  entered, 
although  as  I  passed  up  the  stairs  I  fancied  I 
heard  the  squeak  of  the  swinging  door  between 
the  dining-room  and  the  butler's  pantry.  I  list- 
ened a  moment,  but  decided  that  it  was  the  draft 
from  the  open  windows  which  made  the  door 
move  slightly.  I  went  on  to  my  wife's  room  and 
noticed  that  her  door  was  closed.  I  wondered  at 
this  a  little,  for  it  always  stands  open  at  night. 
I  did  not  stop  to  speculate  concerning  it,  but 
turned  the  knob  and  entered  the  room.  You  know 
what  I  saw."  A  tremor  passed  over  his  face,  but 
he  went  on  in  the  same  monotonous  tone. 

"I  stood  looking  at  my  wife  for  a  second — a 


56  THE  DEATH  CRY 

minute — I  don't  know  just  how  long  I  did  stand 
there.  Finally  I  approached  the  bed  and  laid  my 
hand  on  her  heart,  though  I  had  known  the  min- 
ute I  saw  her  that  life  was  extinct.  She  had  been 
dead  about  fifteen  minutes,  I  should  say.  As  soon 
as  I  was  quite  convinced  of  that  fact,  I  tele- 
phoned our  next-door  neighbor.  Mrs.  Temple 
answered  the  phone,  I  think,  and  they  both  came 
over  at  once.  I  believe  I've  told  you  all  I  know 
that  has  any  bearing  on  the  case.  Whatever  ques- 
tions you  wish  to  ask  I  will  answer  if  I  can." 

There  was  a  full  minute's  silence  when  the  tone- 
less voice  ceased  and  the  doctor  sat  down.  The 
horror  of  that  awful  discovery  lay  dark  upon  us 
all.  The  coroner  cleared  his  throat  apologetically 
and  began: 

"It  seems  necessary  to  ask  you  some  questions, 


THE  INQUEST  57 

Doctor,  but  I  will  be  as  brief  as  I  can.  What  was 
the  cause  of  your  wife's  fright  earlier  in  the  even- 
ing?" 

Dr.  Cuyler  explained  the  episode  of  the  snake.  I 
thought  the  faces  of  the  jury  were  tinged  with  a 
slight  incredulity  as  they  listened.  To  their  mas- 
culine minds  it  verged  upon  the  ridiculous  that 
any  woman  should  be  so  overcome  at  the  sight  of  a 
harmless  garter  snake  she  required  a  sleeping 
draught  to  quiet  her. 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  snake  after  you'd 
killed  it?" 

The  passion  for  detail  which  is  ever  present  in 
a  narrow  mind  prompted  the  juror's  question. 

"I  threw  it  into  the  weeds  in  the  vacant  lot." 
The  juror  nodded,  satisfied. 

"Have  you  missed  anything  of  value  since  the 


58  THE  DEATH  CRY 

murder?  Can  you  assign  robbery  as  the  motive?" 
It  was  the  coroner  who  spoke. 

"A  sapphire  bracelet  I  had  given  her  the  even- 
ing before — last  evening,  is  gone.  Nothing  down- 
stairs seems  to  have  been  touched." 

"Have  you  examined  her  personal  effects?  Have 
you  looked  through  her  dresser  drawers?" 

"Yes.    There  is  nothing  else  missing." 

"Hm!  But  of  course  the  robber,  if  there  was 
a  robber,  may  have  been  frightened  away  before 
he  finished  his  search.  Was  the  bracelet  a  valuable 
one?" 

"Yes,  it  was  rather  valuable.  I  forgot  to  tell 
you  that  there  is  also  a  vase  missing  from  the 
room." 

"Indeed.    Will  you  describe  it?" 

"I  will  try,  although  I  have  never  examined  it 


THE  INQUEST  59 

very  closely,"  the  doctor  said.  "It  was  one  of  our 
wedding  gifts,  and  my  wife  kept  it  always  filled 
with  flowers.  It  was  of  bronze,  with  a  jug-like 
base  and  a  slender  stem.  It  stood  about  twelve 
inches  high,  I  imagine." 

"Did  it  possess  a  financial  value?" 

"As  to  that  I  cannot  say.  I'm  no  judge  of 
curios.  To  me  it  was  a  vase  and  nothing  more.  It 
may  have  been  of  interest  to  a  connoisseur." 

The  coroner  dismissed  the  vase  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand. 

"Now,  Doctor,  about  that  call,"  he  went  on  im- 
pressively. "Where  did  you  go  at  that  tune?" 

"I  went  to  see  Peter  Rossbaum,  at  Fourth  and 
Grant  streets.  He  had  a  touch  of  ptomaine  pois- 
oning," the  doctor  explained  in-  an  uninterested 
tone.  The  coroner  made  a  note  of  the  name  and 
address. 


60  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"Eliminating  the  idea  of  robbery,  there  remains 
the  motive  of  revenge.  Have  you  any  knowledge 
of  any  enemy  or  enemies  which  Mrs.  Cuyler  pos- 
sessed?" 

"None  whatever.  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a 
human  being  who  had  cause  to  dislike  my  wife. 
She  was  the  gentlest,  sweetest — "  his  voice  failed, 
and  he  did  not  try  to  go  on. 

"And  you,  yourself.  Is  there  anyone  you  know 
of  who  might  wish  to  injure  you  or  yours?" 

I  was  watching  the  doctor,  and  I  imagined  I 
saw  him  start  at  this  question,  though  he  replied 
evenly  enough: 

"No  one.  So  far  as  I  know,  I  have  no  ene- 
mies." 

"You  are  excused,  Doctor.  Will  Mrs.  Temple 
please  come  forward?" 


THE  INQUEST  61 

It  was  my  first  experience  of  this  kind  and  need- 
less to  say  a  trying  one,  but  I  told  my  story  in 
the  clearest  manner  I  could.  I  told  of  the  conver- 
sation the  three  of  us  had  had  that  evening  at  the 
hedge;  I  related  how  we  had  heard  Mrs.  Cuyler 
scream  and  her  husband's  explanation  of  her 
fright.  I  told  of  hearing  the  motor  car  leave  later 
on ;  and  I  told  how  I'd  answered  the  telephone  in 
the  night.  I  described  in  as  few  words  as  possible 
the  condition  of  affairs  in  that  upper  room  at  the 
time  we  entered  it;  even  so  I  turned  a  little  sick 
at  the  recollection  of  it  all. 


The  jury  was  deeply  interested  and  asked  in- 
numerable questions  when  I  finished.  The  con- 
straint which  Dr.  Cuyler's  manner  had  laid  upon 
them  seem  to  lift  with  my  recital. 

Had  I  known  Mrs.  Cuyler  long?  How  long? 


62  THE  DEATH  CRY 

About  six  years. 

Had  I  known  her  husband  before  his  marriage? 

Yes,  several  years  in  a  professional  way. 

Had  I  seen  any  suspicious  characters  prowling 
about  the  place? 

No,  I  had  not. 

Et  cetera,  et  cetera.  I  answered  all  their  ques- 
tions, satisfactorily  I  think,  and  was  at  last  ex- 
cused. 

N.  P.  was  next  called  and  I  did  feel  sorry  for 
the  poor  old  boy.  He  was  so  fearfully  certain  that 
he  was  going  to  say  the  wrong  thing,  so  painfully 
intent  upon  saying  the  right,  that  any  jury  might 
have  been  excused  from  concluding  he  himself  was 
the  guilty  party.  When  he  sat  down,  he  was  pant- 
ing and  perspiring  as  though  he  had  been  engaged 
in  chopping  wood. 


THE  INQUEST  63 

A  few  of  the  neighbors  were  then  examined  as 
to  whether  they  had  noticed  anything  unusual 
either  before  or  after  the  murder,  whether  they 
had  heard  the  scream  earlier  in  the  evening  and 
if  they  had  any  knowledge  of  any  enemies  of  the 
Cuylers.  The  situation  of  the  doctor's  house  made 
their  testimony  of  little  value.  Ours  is  the  corner 
lot,  the  Cuylers'  is  next  to  it  and  then  comes  the 
vacant  lot.  The  only  other  house  hi  the  block 
belongs  to  the  Aliens  and  as  they  were  as  the  sea- 
shore the  house  was  closed  for  the  summer.  Across 
the  street  is  a  pleasant  little  park. 

The  last  person  to  testify  was  the  physician  who 
had  examined  the  body  on  his  arrival  at  the  house. 
He  described  the  nature  of  the  wound  and  give  it 
as  his  opinion  that  it  had  been  inflicted  by  some 
blunt  weapon,  probably  the  head  of  an  ax  or 


64  THE  DEATH  CRY 

hatchet.  A  thorough  search  of  the  premises  had 
yielded  no  weapon  of  any  sort.  It  was  clear  that 
Eloise'  assailant  had  taken  with  him  the  fearful 
tool  of  his  crime.  When  Dr.  Penrose  was  asked 
as  to  the  length  of  time  Mrs.  Cuyler  had  been  dead 
when  he  came,  he  replied  that  in  his  opinion  life 
had  been  extinct  for  half  an  hour  or  thereabout. 
This  of  course  coincided  with  her  husband's  theory 
as  it  was  all  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  our  ar- 
rival at  the  Cuyler's  home  before  Dr.  Penrose  ap- 
peared. 

This  concluded  the  testimony.  The  jury  with- 
drew to  consider  their  verdict  and  we  waited  in  the 
library  to  hear  it.  N.  P.  told  me  afterwards  that 
the  whole  inquest  had  been  conducted  in  a 
strangely  informal  manner,  but  I  didn't  know  it. 
The  coroner,  it  seems,  was  new  to  the  business,  as 


THE  INQUEST  65 

he  was  acting  in  the  absence  of  Dr.  Lynch,  the  of- 
ficial coroner.  I  don't  see  myself  what  more  could 
have  been  done  at  the  time,  but  I  know  that  later 
the  Prosecuting  Attorney  was  bitter  in  his  denun- 
ciation of  the  proceedings. 

The  verdict  was  that  Eloise  Cuyler  had  come  to 
her  death  on  the  morning  of  June  fourth,  presum- 
ably between  the  hour  of  one  o'clock  and  one  thir- 
ty, at  the  hands  of  a  person  or  persons  unknown, 
said  death  having  been  caused  by  a  blow  or  blows 
from  some  blunt  instrument,  probably  the  head  of 
an  ax. 

It  was  what  we  all  expected  of  course.  There 
seemed  absolutely  no  clew  to  the  murderer. 

As  we  left  the  Cuyler's,  it  was  an  unpleasant 
surprise  to  find  a  crowd  thronging  the  sidewalk 
and  eyeing  the  house  with  morbid  curiosity.  By 


66  THE  DEATH  CRY 

night  the  whole  town  was  ringing  with  the  story, 
and  the  intense  public  interest  spurred  police  and 
detectives  alike  to  unusual  action  but  with  no  im- 
mediate results. 


CHAPTER  IV 

SUSPICION 

The  next  two  days  were  a  waking  nightmare  of 
publicity  and  strenuosity  for  me.  I  thought  I 
should  probably  take  a  back  seat  when  Mrs.  Wil- 
ding came,  but  I  had  never  met  her  before  or  I 
should  have  known  better.  She  was  a  frail,  gen- 
tle little  lady,  in  mourning  for  her  husband,  and 
too  crushed  by  this  second  loss  to  have  any  in- 
itiative left.  I  did  all  I  could  for  her  and  the  doc- 
tor and  for  my  Eloise — keeping  her  precious  baby 
with  me  until  not  an  outward  sign  of  the  tragedy 
was  left  in  the  Cuyler  home. 

Mrs.  Wilding  decided  to  stay  on  a  few  weeks 

67 


. 


68  THE  DEATH  CRY 

with  her  son-in-law  and  the  night  after  the  funer- 
al she  took  Mariechen  home.  Gradually  Dr.  Cuy- 
ler  came  out  of  his  frozen  apathy  and  took  up  his 
duties  as  usual,  but  he  was  a  wreck  of  his  former 
self — any  one  could  see  that. 

I  am  getting  ahead  of  my  story.  The  day  after 
the  funeral  (that  is,  Thursday)  N.  P.  came  home 
greatly  disturbed  in  his  mind.  While  he  was  eat- 
ing lunch  he  told  me  there  were  rumors  abroad 
that  the  police  were  not  satisfied  with  the  verdict 
of  the  coroner's  jury  and  were  working  on  a  theory 
of  their  own.  No  one  came  out  in  the  open  and 
put  a  name  to  the  suspicions  afloat,  but  it  was 
known  that  the  Prosecuting  Attorney  had  found 
flaws  in  the  doctor's  story  of  the  murder. 

For  instance,  that  snake  incident, — I  had  no- 
ticed a  number  of  men  at  work  in  the  lot  next  the 


SUSPICION  69 

Cuylers',  cutting  the  weeds,  and  I,  wondered  at  the 
doctor's  remembering  at  this  time  his  threat  to 
have  those  weeds  removed.  But  it  appeared  that 
the  men  were  employed  by  the  police  and  their 
object  was  not  to  get  rid  of  the  weeds  but  to  find 
the  snake  that  the  doctor  said  he  had  thrown 
there.  And  it  couldn't  be  found.  Of  course  that 
threw  a  terrible  light  on  the  affair.  If  there  had 
been  no  snake,  what  had  caused  Mrs.  Cuyler  to 
scream? 

"But  there  was  a  snake,  of  course!"  I  cried. 
"What  if  they  didn't  find  it?  I  suppose  a  cat 
could  have  carried  it  off." 

"Another  strange  thing."  N.  P.  went  on  as  if 
I  hadn't  spoken,  "is  that  Peter  Rossbaum  whom 
the  doctor  says  he  called  on  that  night  has  left 
the  city,  he  and  his  wife  both,  and  no  one  knows 


£0  THE  DEATH  CRY 

where  they  are.  So  it  can't  be  proved  that  Dr. 
Cuyler  did  call  upon  Rossbaum." 

"But  we  ourselves  heard  his  car  leave  the  ga- 
rage." 

"We  heard  a  car  leave,  dear.  Neither  of  us 
could  swear  that  it  was  his.  And  even  so  we  don't 
know  where  he  went,  if  he  did  leave  the  place." 

I  sat  and  stared  a  moment.  Gradually  the  mean- 
ing of  his  remarks  began  to  permeate  my  brain. 

"N.  P.!"  I  exclaimed  indignantly.  "Are  you 
trying  to  tell  me  that  any  one  has  dared  to  inti- 
mate to  you  that  Dr.  Cuyler  is  implicated  in  all 
this?  That  he — that  he — Oh,  I  never  heard  of 
anything  so  horrible!" 

"It  happens  every  day.  Some  brute  of  a  man 
is  always  killing  his  wife,"  N.  P.  replied  in  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  way. 


SUSPICION  71 

I  rose  from  my  chair  in  a  kind  of  blind  rage. 

"Don't  talk  like  that!"  I  stormed.  "It  sounds 
as  if  you  thought — "  I  broke  off  abruptly.  "Na- 
thanial  Penfield  Temple,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  you  believe  for  one  little  instant  that  Dr. 
Cuyler  is  responsible  for  the  death  of  Eloise?" 

"Certainly  I  don't  believe  it."  My  husband 
flashed  a  stern  but  reassuring  glance  at  me.  "Sit 
down,  Courtney,  and  don't  get  so  excited.  I'm 
only  trying  to  show  you  how  a  case  may  be  worked 
up  against  the  doctor." 

A  sudden  thought  struck  me. 

"Pshaw !  I  can  knock  your  old  case  in  the  head 
at  the  start.  Eloise  screamed  somewhere  about 
eleven  o'clock.  We  can  swear  to  that.  And  Dr. 
Penrose  said  she  had  not  been  dead  more  than 


72  THE  DEATH  CRY 

half  an  hour  when  he  came  and  that  was  nearly 
two." 

I  looked  triumphantly  at  N.  P.  N.  P.  looked  at 
the  carpet. 

"She  might  not  have  been  killed  then,  Courtney, 
but  she  might  have  been  struck  and  died  three 
hours  later." 

I  gasped  as  though  he'd  thrown  cold  water  in 
my  face. 

"And  do  you  expect  me — or  anyone  with  a 
spark  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness  in  his  breast 
— yes,  I  know  perfectly  that's  a  mixed  metaphor, 
but  I'm  beyond  syntax  now — you  expect  me  to  be- 
lieve that  Vincent  Cuyler,  the  tender,  adoring  hus- 
band that  we  know  him  to  be — sat  for  three  hours 
by  the  side  of  his  wife,  waiting  for  her  to  die  from 
a  blow  that  he  himself  had  inflicted?  Oh,  N.  P., 


SUSPICION  73 

whoever  started  that  tale  has  overreached  himself. 
It  is  so  absurd  I  could  laugh,  if  it  were  not  for  the 
horror  of  the  thing." 

N.  P.  sighed.  "I'm  only  telling  you  what  people 
are  saying,"  he  said  again.  "They  don't  know 
him  as  well  as  we  do,  remember." 

I  sat  for  a  few  minutes  absolutely  stunned  by 
this  revelation.  It  was  almost  as  awful  as  losing 
Eloise  to  have  her  husband  even  remotely  sus- 
pected of  being  her  murderer. 

"Does  he  know  of  these  rumors?"  I  queried  af- 
ter a  while. 

"No,  I  don't  believe  he  does.  He  wouldn't  be 
apt  to,  you  know,  until  the  police  decide  to  act." 

"Ought  you  to  teU  him?" 

"Why?  It  would  only  worry  him  and  perhaps 
cause  him  to  alter  his  usual  habits  in  a  manner 


- 

« 

74  THE  DEATH  CRY 

to  confirm  suspicion.  If  he  is  innocent — and  of 
course  he  is — he  has  nothing  to  fear." 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  replied  with  sarcasm.  "We  all 
know  that  only  the  guilty  are  brought  to  justice 
and  the  innocent  are  invariably  cleared." 

N.  P.  sighed  again  and  folded  his  napkin.  The 
conversation  haunted  me  all  afternoon  while  I 
was  over  with  Mrs.  Wilding  but  when  I  returned 
for  dinner  I  found  the  house  in  a  commotion  that 
drove  the  Cuylers'  affairs  temporarily  out  of  my 
mind. 

N.  P.  was  throwing  things  like  a  madman  into 
a  suitcase  and  America  was  waddling  in  and  out 
with  clean  handkerchiefs,  fresh  underwear  and  the 
dear  knows  what  all. 

"Hello!"  my  husband  greeted  me,  lifting  a  red 
face  from  the  shoes  he  was  attempting  to  cram 


I 

SUSPICION  75 

into  a  corner  already  occupied  by  a  box  of  collars. 
"I  was  just  coming  after  you.  Got  to  leave  here 
in  twenty  minutes  to  catch  the  Sunset  Limited. 
I'm  going  to  San  Francisco  on  business  for  the 
firm.  Telegram  came  this  afternoon  for  one  of  us 
to  come,  and  Weddle's  down  with  tonsilitis,  so  it's 
up  to  me.  I  hate  like  thunder  to  leave  you  now,  but 
it  can't  be  helped.  You  can  get  some  one  to  stay 
with  you,  can't  you,  and  America  will  look  after 
you  all  right.  She's  not  afraid  of  the  devil  him- 
self." 

There  was  a  sniff  from  that  black  potentate  as 
she  reappeared  in  the  doorway  bearing  a  pair  of 
silk  pajamas  over  her  arm. 

"Huccome  yo'  forgit  dese  yere  Benjamens,  Mis- 
tah  Nat?"  she  inquired  scornfully. 

N.  P.  used  to  wear  nightshirts  in  his  archaic 


76  THE  DEATH  CRY 

bachelor  days,  and  America  has  never  forgiven  me 
for  persuading  him  to  be  up-to-date  in  his  night 
attire.  She  laid  the  despised  garments  carefully 
in  his  suitcase  and  took  the  key  out  of  his  un- 
resisting fingers. 

"Hit's  plum  full  now,"  she  said,  "an'  dat  air 
taxicab  eatin'  its  haid  off  out  in  front.  Put  on 
yo'  hat  an'  tell  Miss  Co'tney  goodby.  De  good 
Lawd  knows  why  yo'  ain't  takin'  her  along  stid 
o'  leavin'  her  hyah  alongside  o'  murderers  and 
thieves!" 

N.  P.  was  too  busy  with  the  first  part  of  her  re- 
marks to  give  much  heed  to  the  latter  but  I  rather 
echoed  her  sentiments.  I'm  pretty  well  accus- 
tomed to  N.  P.'s  frequent  absences  on  business  and 
I'm  apt  to  be  quite  philosophic  about  them,  but 
somehow  this  tune  was  different.  I  had  barely  re- 


SUSPICION  77 

gained  my  poise  after  living  in  the  shadow  of  the 
Cuyler  tragedy  the  last  four  days,  and  already  in 
anticipation  I  missed  the  comfortable  bulwark  of 
N.  P.'s  presence.  He  walked  to  the  front  door 
with  his  arm  around  me,  cheerfully  unconscious  of 
my  mood. 

"Have  a  good  tune  while  I'm  gone,"  he  said. 
"Don't  get  morbid  about  the  Cuylers  and  don't 
mix  up  in  that  matter  I  spoke  to  you  about.  Cuy- 
ler can  take  care  of  his  own  troubles,  or  if  he  can't, 
you  can't  help  him  any.  Goodby,  little  girl." 

The  screen  banged  and  he  was  gone.  I  had  good 
reason  in  the  days  that  followed  to  wish  that  I 
had  taken  his  advice. 


CHAPTER   V 

STRAWS  IN  THE  WIND 

The  day  after  N.  P.'s  departure  I  went  as  usual 
to  see  if  there  was  anything  I  could  do  for  Mrs. 
Wilding.  She  reminded  me  of  Eloise  in  an  older, 
faded  way  and  already  I  had  become  fond  of  her 
for  her  own  as  well  as  for  her  daughter's  sake.  I 
had  made  up  my  mind  before  I  went  to  her  that 
morning  that  I  would  protect  her  if  it  were  a  pos- 
sible thing  from  any  knowledge  of  the  ugly  rum- 
ors about  her  son-in-law.  But  I  feared  at  first  I 
was  too  late.  I  found  her  in  a  state  of  frightened 
bewilderment  over  a  letter  which  had  been  handed 
in  at  the  door  by  an  unknown  messenger.  It  was 

78 


STRAWS  IN  THE  WIND  79 

written  on  a  half  sheet  of  notepaper  and  inclosed 
in  a  soiled  envelope  addressed  to 

"Mrs.  Cuyler's  Mother." 

There  were  only  two  lines  in  a  hand  which,  I 
thought,  showed  evidence  of  some  education. 

"DOCTOR  CUYLER  KNOWS  WHO  KILLED 
HIS  WIFE.  ASK  HIM  ABOUT  THE  OTHER 
WOMAN." 

"Do  you  think — what  do  you  suppose  it 
means?"  quavered  the  little  lady  while  I  stared  in 
silence  at  the  evil  bit  of  paper.  I  thought  hard. 

"It's  probably  the  work  of  some  sensation  lov- 
ing gossip,"  I  told  her.  "You  know  there  are  al- 
ways such  people  who  rise  to  the  surface  whenever 
a  crime  is  committed,  eager  to  get  themselves  be- 
fore the  gaze  of  the  public.  I  wouldn't  give  it  an- 
other thought  if  I  were  you." 


80  THE  DEATH  CRY 

Mrs.  Wilding  was  plainly  relieved  at  this  opin- 
ion. Dear  lady,  it  never  took  much  argument  to 
convince  her. 

"I  wonder  if  I  ought  to  show  it  to  Vincent?"  she 
puzzled. 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't.  He  has  enough  to  bear  with- 
out troubling  him  with  such  vile  insinuations.  I 
believe  I'd  just  destroy  it — or  no — give  it  to  me 
and  I'll  keep  it  until  Mr.  Temple  comes  home.  If 
he  considers  it  of  any  importance  he'll  know  what 

is  best  to  do  about  it." 
I  took  the  letter  home  and  locked  it  carefully  in 

the  desk  hi  my  bedroom  where  I  hide  whatever 
money  I'm  keeping  in  the  house.  I  never  used  to 
think  of  being  afraid  of  burglars,  but  I've  grown 
cautious  since  the  murder.  I  remember  distinctly 
that  I  locked  the  desk  for  I  was  just  putting  the 


STRAWS  IN  THE  WIND  81 

key  in  my  handbag  when  America  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

"Looky  hyah,  Miss  Co'tney,"  she  began  indig- 
nantly and  she  shook  out  a  dusty,  tumbled  motor 
robe,  a  handsome  new  one  that  N.  P.  had  given 
me  for  the  Blue  jay. 

"Why,  what's  happened  to  it?"  I  exclaimed. 

"Whut  ain't  happened  to  it,  I  say,"  America  re- 
torted. "I  saw  it  layin'  in  de  dust  when  I  wuz 
hangin'  out  ma  dishtowels — reckon  yo'all  dropped 
it  outen  dat  air  rideabout,  an'  ef  I  ain't  seen  it  and 
picked  it  up  dish  yere  good-for-nothm'  pup  would 
a'  chawed  it  to  a  frazzle.  I  lay  I'd  bust  his  haid 
open  ef  he  had." 

She  took  a  step  into  the  room  and  from  behind 
her  voluminous  skirts  V.  V.  cocked  an  impudent 
eye  at  me,  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  America's 


82  THE  DEATH  CRY 

bark,  like  his  own,  was  considerably  worse  than 
her  bite. 

"  'Taint  no  use  for  Mistah  Nat  to  go  spendin' 
his  money  for  folks  to  fling  out  in  de  road,"  she 
muttered,  reaching  for  my  whistbroom. 

"Don't  brush  that  dirty  thing  in  here,"  I  stopped 
her.  "Take  it  out  on  the  porch  to  clean  it  and 
then  put  it  back  in  the  garage  where  it  belongs.  I 
don't  know  how  it  got  out  of  there  anyway.  I've 
not  been  out  in  the  car  for  two  days." 

America  looked  at  me  doubtfully.  There  was 
no  one  apparently  on  whom  to  lay  the  blame. 
Timothy,  our  chauffeur,  was  in  the  hospital  for 
repairs,  having  taken  a  disastrous  joy  ride  in  the 
big  car  a  couple  of  weeks  ago.  The  car  also  was 
laid  up  for  repairs  so  that  at  the  time  the  garage 
was  unoccupied  except  for  the  blue  "rideabout",  as 


STRAWS  IN  THE  WIND  83 

America  calls  it,  which  no  one  ever  drives  but  me. 
If  I  had  stopped  to  puzzle  it  out  then  perhaps  I 
could  have  prevented  what  was  to  occur;  but  my 
mind  was  occupied  with  that  odious  letter  and  I 
didn't  give  the  robe  another  thought.  Mentally 
I  kept  turning  and  twisting  the  doctor's  affairs 
and  try  as  I  might  I  could  not  dismiss  him  from 
my  thoughts. 

Strangely  enough  that  afternoon  I  had  a  visit 
from  the  Prosecuting  Attorney.  When  America 
brought  me  his  card  I  had  half  a  mind  to  refuse 
to  see  him,  knowing  how  displeased  N.  P.  would 
be.  But  I  didn't  know  whether  one  dared  take 
such  high-handed  measures  with  a  representative 
of  the  law,  so  I  thought  I  had  better  go  down.  I 
found  two  men,  instead  of  one,  awaiting  me. 

Mr.  Lipman  had  with  him  what  I  suppose  you 


84  THE  DEATH  CRY 

would  call  a  plain  clothes  detective,  although  his 
clothes  were  anything  but  plain — the  loudest  mus- 
tard checks  and  the  most  brilliant  thing  in  the 
way  of  a  tie  that  I  have  ever  seen.  He  appeared 
to  slumber  quietly  through  the  entire  interview. 
At  least  he  sat  with  his  eyes  half  closed  and  his 
hands  resting  peacefully  upon  his  knees.  There 
was  nothing  sleepy  about  the  Prosecuting  Attor- 
ney. I  know  that  man  asked  me  two  hundred 
questions.  He  began  by  wanting  me  to  tell  him 
the  story  of  the  murder  as  it  was  known  to  me. 
His  confidential  tone  implied  that  I  might  tell  him 
the  facts  as  they  really  were.  His  manner  an- 
noyed me  from  the  start,  and  I  gave  him  the  very 
briefest  and  barest  version  of  it  all  that  I  could. 
But  that  didn't  discourage  that  Lippman  person, 
not  a  bit  of  it.  He  seized  upon  the  fact  that 


STRAWS  IN  THE  WIND  85 

neither  N.  P.  nor  I  had  had  a  glimpse  of  Eloise 
after  she  screamed,  and  he  marvelled  that  we  had 
not  had  foresight  enough  to  insist  upon  entering 
the  Cuylers'  house  then. 

"I  did  not  see  any  necessity  for  it,"  I  said  curtly. 
"Mrs.  Cuyler  was  resting  quietly,  and  there  was  no 
occasion  for  us  to  go  in.  It  never  occurred  to  either 
of  us  to  do  so." 

"Then  you  don't  know  whether  Mrs.  Cuyler 
was  alive  at  that  time  or  not?" 

"Why,  yes,  she  was  alive,"  I  reminded  him  test- 
ily. "This  all  happened  before  the  murder." 

"How  do  you  know  it  was  before  the  murder?" 

"Why,  her  husband  said — "  I  began,  but  stopped 
at  the  look  on  his  face. 

"Ah,  her  husband  said,  did  he?  We're  not  so 
much  concerned  with  what  he  said  as  we  are  with 


86  THE  DEATH  CRY 

what  he  did  upon  that  night.  Now,  Mrs.  Temple, 
if  you'll  be  so  kind,  I  should  like  you  to  repeat  his 
exact  words,  as  near  as  you  can  remember  them, 
when  you  entered  the  room  of  the  murder." 

"I  thought  you  were  not  interested  in  what  he 
said?"  I  permitted  myself  this  shot  before  comply- 
ing with  his  request.  "He  didn't  say  much;  it 
doesn't  take  much  of  an  effort  to  recall  his  words. 
He  told  my  husband  that  she  was  dead  and  that 
he  was  sure  of  that  before  he  called  us.  And 
he  said  for  Mr.  Temple  not  to  touch  her." 

"Thank  you  very  much."  He  wrote  something 
in  a  little  notebook  which  straightway  gave  me  an 
uneasy  feeling.  "Strange  what  unguarded  things 
an  otherwise  careful  man  will  say,  have  you  no- 
ticed, Bailey?"  he  remarked  aside  to  his  seemingly 
sleeping  companion. 


STRAWS  IN  THE  WIND  8£ 

I  rose  from  my  chair  to  conclude  the  interview. 
"If  you  have  nothing  further  to  inquire  I  will  ask 
you  to  excuse  me,  as  I  have  an  engagement  at  five 
o'clock." 

Mr.  Lippman  looked  uncomfortable,  as  though 
he  choked  over  innumerable  questions  still  to  be 
asked — which  he  probably  did — but  his  zeal  had 
carried  him  a  little  too  far.  There  was  nothing 
more  to  be  got  from  me  that  afternoon. 

The  next  day  passed  without  event,  but  on  Sun- 
day another  queer  thing  occurred,  inexplicable  hi 
itself,  but  which  joined  hands  ominously  with  its 
predecessors.  I  spent  the  afternoon  alone,  reading 
on  the  veranda.  The  vines  formed  a  screen  be- 
tween me  and  the  gaze  of  those  curious  ones  who 
still  gathered  to  stare  at  the  scene  of  the  Cuyler 
murder.  Mariechen  was  playing  in  the  front  yard. 


88  THE  DEATH  CRY 

Occasionally  she  frolicked  through  the  gap  in  the 
hedge  and  came  across  the  lawn  to  speak  to  me. 
Her  nurse  was  looking  after  her,  so  I  didn't  have 
her  on  my  mind,  but  once  the  girl  went  into  the 
house  for  something  and  presently  Mariechen 
came  trotting  over  to  me  with  a  paper  in  her 
hand. 

"A  man  gived  me  this  for  Dranma.  She's  asleep." 
I  took  the  letter  in  my  hand  and  instanly  rec- 
ognized the  handwriting.  It  was  the  same  as  that 
on  the  anonymous  letter  which  had  so  distressed 
Mrs.  Wilding.  I  sat  for  a  long  time  pondering 
the  advisability  of  showing  her  this  one.  It  was 
sure  to  contain  another  disquieting  message,  and  I 
hated  for  her  to  know  about  it.  I  finally  made  up 
my  mind  that  I  was  justified  in  opening  it  first. 
And  when  I  had  read  what  it  contained  I  was  glad 


STRAWS  IN  THE  WIND  89 

that  I  had  done  so.    This  was  the  message: 

"THE  DOCTOR  SAYS  HE  WAS  ALONE 
WITH  HIS  WIFE  WHEN  SHE  SCREAMED. 
HE  WASN'T.  I  WAS  THERE  FOR  THE  PUR- 
POSE OF  ROBBING  THE  HOUSE,  AND  I 
SAW  THE  MURDER.  MAKE  THE  DOCTOR 
TELL  YOU  ABOUT  THE  OTHER  WOMAN." 

Heaven  knows  that  was  bad  enough!  But  it 
wasn't  the  message  itself  that  made  me  sit  staring, 
fascinated,  at  that  paper.  On  the  contrary,  it 
was  the  paper  itself,  a  half  sheet  of  the  linen  bond 
I  always  use  and  which  bore  at  the  top  the  fa- 
miliar Temple  crest — a  hare  and  a  raven,  with 
the  words  "Durante  Vita" 

N.  P.  had  the  die  made  for  me  a  number  of 
years  ago,  and  I  always  have  my  paper  marked 


90  THE  DEATH  CRY 

with  it.  As  it  is  rather  expensive,  I  reserve  it  for 
my  own  private  correspondence  and  I  keep  the 
entire  supply  in  my  bedroom  desk.  That  desk 
has  been  locked  for  the  last  few  days,  as  I  have 
said  before,  and  the  mystery  of  how  anyone  had 
gamed  access  to  it  without  my  knowledge  and 
helped  himself  to  this  sheet  of  paper  was  prac- 
tically insolvable.  And  yet,  yet — my  eyes  did 
not  deceive  me.  It  undoubtedly  was  my  own 
paper  on  which  I  gazed,  while  little  shivers  of  fear 
began  to  chill  my  spine  even  in  broad  daylight. 

Common  sense  argued  that  it  was  some  kind 
of  a  hoax,  in  disgustingly  bad  taste,  of  course ;  but 
common  sense  can't  always  satisfy  our  doubts.  I 
began  to  feel  that  whatever  the  mystery  was  I 
could  no  longer  bear  the  disquieting  knowledge  of 
it  alone. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  AEBEST 

N.  P.  being  away,  I  thought  it  best  to  take  the 
letters  directly  to  Dr.  Cuyler.  It  seemed  a  pity 
to  worry  him,  as  I  had  said  to  Mrs.  Wilding,  but 
in  the  light  of  this  second  communication  coming 
so  closely  upon  the  first,  I  really  felt  that  it  might 
be  better  for  him  to  know. 

He  was  out  on  a  prolonged  case  that  night,  and 
I  couldn't  get  in  touch  with  him,  so  I  called  him 
the  next  day  over  the  phone  and  made  an  en- 
gagement to  take  him  for  a  ride  after  office  hours. 

I  parked  the  Blue  jay  in  front  of  the  Rialto 
Building,,  where  he  has  his  office — a  foolish  thing 
to  do,  as  I  learned  later,  though,  of  course,  I  never 

91 


92  THE  DEATH  CRY 

thought  of  it  at  the  time — and  went  to  do  some 
shopping.  When  I  returned  a  little  after  four  he 
was  just  coming  down  from  his  office.  We  met  on 
the  sidewalk,  stepped  into  the  car  and  drove  at 
once  away  from  the  downtown  district.  Dr.  Cuyler 
had  very  little  to  say,  but  he  made  an  effort  to 
reply  to  my  chatter  while  we  were  heading  out  for 
the  quieter  boulevards. 

It  was  just  a  week  since  the  frightful  night  of 
Eloise's  death.  He  had  aged  so  much  in  the  brief 
time  that  it  might  have  been  years.  He  had 
lost  flesh,  his  face  was  haggard,  and  his  fine  eyes 
were  darkened  with  the  awful  shadow  of  the  tra- 
gedy. I  tried  a  tentative  question  or  two.  The 
detectives  he  had  employed  were  busily  engaged, 
he  told  me,  but  as  yet  had  found  no  clew  to  the 
murderer. 


THE  ARREST  93 

This  was  the  time  for  me  to  speak  of  the  mys- 
terious letters  I  carried,  and  yet  I  dreaded  to  do  it. 
Instead  I  slowed  up  the  car  a  bit  as  we  turned 
into  the  leafy  Riverview  Drive,  and  pretended 
that  I  wanted  to  let  "V.  V."  get  out  and  run.  Then 
Dr.  Cuyler  turned  to  me  and  said  gently: 

"What  is  it  on  your  mind,  Mrs.  Temple?  You 
said  there  was  something  you  wanted  to  speak  to 
me  about?  I'm  afraid  my  troubles  are  paining  you 
too  much." 

I  felt  the  color  mount  hi  my  cheeks  and  a  stric- 
ture in  my  throat  at  his  considerate  tone.  That 
anyone  should  suspect  such  a  man  of  crime  was 
preposterous,  I  thought  hotly.  The  purport  of 
those  letters  was  too  vile  to  disclose  to  him.  I 
was  half  inclined  even  then  to  let  the  whole  mat- 
ter drop,  but  the  burden  of  responsibility  weighed 


94  THE  DEATH  CRY 

heavily  upon  me.  I  took  the  letters  from  my  bag 
and  handed  them  to  him. 

"These  fell  into  my  hands,"  I  faltered,  "and  I 
took  care  of  them  to  save  Mrs.  Wilding  anxiety.  I 
wouldn't  have  bothered  you  with  them  either 
but  for  one  thing,"  and  I  explained  how  they  had 
been  delivered  and  the  curious  circumstance  of 
my  paper  with  the  crest. 

Dr.  Cuyler  listened  gravely  to  my  story.  A 
faintly  contemptuous  expression  crossed  his  face 
as  he  examined  the  letters,  and  stuffed  them  into 
his  pocket. 

"Do  you  suppose  they  might  be  a  clew  to  the 
murderer?"  I  asked  after  a  bit,  as  he  did  not  speak. 
He  emitted  a  short,  unmirthful  laugh  that  grated 
on  my  ears. 

"Not  very  likely.    Anonymous  communications 


THE  ARREST  95 

never  have  much  value,  you  know.  I'm  sorry 
you  should  have  been  troubled  with  the  scurrilous 
stuff." 

His  tone  dismissed  the  subject.  He  stooped  to 
pick  up  my  handkerchief;  and  then  occurred  the 
strangest  and  most  inexplicable  of  all  the  strange 
and  inexplicable  things  which  had  happened  since 
that  awful  night  when  Eloise  came  to  her  death. 
As  he  bent  down,  a  piece  of  paper  fluttered  to 
the  floor.  I  can't  account  yet  for  its  presence  in 
the  car.  It  may  be  that  it  was  hi  one  of  those 
envelopes  all  the  time,  so  small  a  piece  that  neither 
the  doctor  nor  I  had  seen  it  when  we  drew  out 
the  large  sheet.  But  whether  it  fell  out  unknown 
to  either  of  us  when  he  read  the  letter,  or  whether 
it  was  placed  in  the  Blue  Jay  while  she  was  in 
the  garage,  I  do  not  know.  In  view  of  what  after- 


96  THE  DEATH  CRY 

wards  happened  in  the  garage,  I'm  inclined  to  be- 
lieve the  latter  theory  to  be  the  correct  one.  At 
any  rate,  the  question  of  how  it  got  there  didn't 
enter  my  head  until  afterwards.  An  appalling 
change  came  over  the  doctor's  face  as  he  glanced 
at  this  bit  of  paper.  He  turned  white  to  the  lips, 
and  his  eyes  dilated  with  an  unmistakable  look  of 
horror. 

"What  is  it?    Oh,  what  is  it?"  I  cried. 

He  swallowed  as  though  something  obstructed 
his  speech.  Then  he  turned  to  me  sternly. 

"What  does  this  mean  Did  you — is  it  pos- 
sible that  you — " 

"I?"  All  the  consternation  that  I  felt  sounded 
in  my  voice.  "I  don't  understand  you,  Doctor 
Cuyler." 

I  took  the  paper  from  his  hand  and  examined  it 


THE  ARREST  97 

eagerly,  convinced  that  it  held  some  important 
clew.  I  was  nonplussed  when  I  read  the  single 
word  it  contained — 

"Ruenna." 

The  name,  printed  in  rude  letters,  stared  up  at 
me  innocently.  What  was  there  in  that  to  destroy 
the  doctor's  accustomed  poise?  Was  it  the  name 
of  a  town,  of  a  drug,  or  of — a  woman?  I  resolutely 
put  the  last  supposition  from  me. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Temple,"  Dr.  Cuyler 
had  regained  his  usual  composure  as  he  turned 
to  me  again.  "It  was  inexcusable  of  me  to  startle 
you  so.  My  nerves  are  a  bit  raw  lately,  and  that 
name  brought  back  very  vividly  something  that 
I  have  tried  to  forget.  Please  don't  give  it  another 
thought.  You've  had  more  than  your  share  of  my 
troubles,  and  you've  done  everything  that  a  friend 


98  THE  DEATH  CRY 

could  do  that  is  generous  and  kind  and  sweet.  If 
Eloise — "  he  paused  abruptly. 

"I  haven't  done  anything  at  all,"  I  protested, 
winking  back  a  tear.  "But  I'm  always  ready  and 
willing,  and  if  there  ever  is  anything  I  can  do, 
won't  you  please  call  on  me — for  Eloise's  sake?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment.  I  had  the  feeling  that 
he  wanted  to  steer  the  conversation  away  from 
the  strange  name,  for  presently  he  said: 

"There  is  something,  Mrs.  Temple,  that  I'd  be 
grateful  if  you'd  give  your  attention  to.  That  is 
Eloise's  garden.  There  are  so  many  flowers  that 
need  cutting,  and  I  have  no  one  in  my  house  to 
attend  to  them.  Could  you  find  time  to  cut  some 
for  the  hospital  tomorrow?  Eloise  used  to  do 
it  about  once  a  week,  I  believe." 

"Oh,  I'd  love  to.    I'm  so  glad  you  spoke  to  me 


THE  ARREST  99 

about  it,"  I  cried,  secretly  resolving  that  I  would 
oversee  the  beloved  place  of  Eloise's  labors  for 
him  and  keep  it  from  neglect  until  he  had  the 
heart  to  take  it  up  himself. 

"Thank  you.  I  knew  you  would.  Is  there  any 
kindness  you  wouldn't  love  to  do  for  a  friend?"  he 
asked,  a  sudden  light  glancing  across  his  somber 
face.  "I  have  no  words  to  tell  you  what  your 
sympathy  means  to  me,"  he  added,  lifting  my 
hand  to  his  lips.  It  was  but  a  natural,  graceful 
manifestation  of  his  mood  and  I  shouldn't  have 
given  the  incident  another  thought  if  at  that  very 
moment  an  automobile  had  not  swung  around  the 
corner,  containing  of  all  people  the  Prosecuting 
Attorney.  He  shot  an  inquiring  glance  at  us  as  he 
carelessly  tipped  his  hat.  I  felt  the  blood  mount 

•jr 

in  my  cheeks  and  I  was  suddenly  and  uncomfort- 


100  THE  DEATH  CRY 

ably  aware  of  being  in  a  conspicuous  position.  I 
whistled  sharply  to  V.  V.  who  was  skirmishing 
among  the  bushes,  and  set  the  Blue  Jay  on  the 
wing  again.  Dr.  Cuyler,  absorbed  in  his  own 
thoughts,  apparently  had  not  noticed  my  confu- 
sion. 

We  were  both  rather  silent  on  the  homeward 
drive.  The  Prosecuting  Attorney  with  his  hateful 
glance  faded  from  my  thoughts.  I  felt  relieved 
from  the  too  great  responsibility  I  had  borne  and 
though  Dr.  Cuyler's  face  was  as  stern  and  sad  as 
ever,  the  fresh  air  or  the  drive  or  something  had 
driven  a  little  healthful  color  into  it. 

It  was  after  six  when  we  drove  up  the  street 
toward  home.  I  noticed  two  men  standing  on  Dr. 
Cuyler's  porch  and  I  stopped  directly  in  front  of 
the  house  to  let  him  out. 


THE  ARREST  101 

"Don't  bother  about  me,"  I  said.  "It's  no 
trouble  to  put  up  the  car."  So  with  an  apology 
for  acting  as  I  urged  him,  he  got  out  and  went  up 
the  walk  to  meet  the  men. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A    NEWSPAPER  BOMB 

America  had  sounded  the  gong  for  dinner  and 
I  was  descending  the  stairs,  my  mind  still  occu- 
pied with  Dr.  Cuyler  and  his  troubles,  when  I 
glanced  out  the  hall  window  and  saw  him  leaving 
his  house  accompanied  by  the  two  men  we  had 
noticed  as  we  drove  home.  Almost  simultaneous- 
ly the  telephone  rang.  As  I  entered  the  dining 
room  America  greeted  me  with  a  message  from 
one  of  the  Cuylers'  maids  asking  that  I  come  over 
at  once,  as  Mrs.  Wilding  was  in  a  sad  state. 

Something  shivery  and  cold  got  hold  of  me  just 

for  a  moment  but  I  can't  honestly  say  that  I  had 

102 


A  NEWSPAPER  BOMB  103 

any  premonition  of  the  blow  about  to  fall.  Pre- 
vious experience,  however,  had  made  me  a  little 
panicky  about  telephone  summons  from  that  ill- 
fated  house.  I  hurried  across  the  lawn  with  a  furi- 
tive  wish  that  N.  P.  was  pounding  at  my  heels. 
I  found  Mrs.  Wilding  upstairs  alone  in  a  tearful 
heap  upon  her  bed. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Temple,"  she  greeted  me  with  sobs, 
"what  have  I  ever  done  to  suffer  so  much  trou- 
ble? I  thought  my  cup  was  full  when  I  lost  my 
precious  daughter,  but  now  they  have  taken  yin- 
cent  too!" 

"Taken  him?"  I  questioned  stupidly.  "Taken 
him  where?" 

"They  have  arrested  him  for  Eloise's  murder. 
Think  of  it!  Her  own  husband  and  my  grand- 
daughter's father!  Oh,  it  is  too  cruel,  too  heart- 


104  THE  DEATH  CRY 

breaking!  In  his  own  house,  and  before  his  inno- 
cent child!"  She  wrung  her  frail  old  hands  and 
wept  piteously.  I  could  not  utter  a  word  to  com- 
fort her.  My  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  my 
mouth,  and  there  was  a  sudden  roaring  in  my 
ears.  Dr.  Cuyler  arrested  for  the  murder  of  Eloise ! 
Had  it  indeed  come  to  that?  Had  the  world 
swung  suddenly  and  dizzily  from  its  axis? 

"But  those  men  were  not  policemen,"  I  heard 
myself  stammering  at  last.  "At  least  they  weren't 
in  uniform." 

"No,  they  said  they  had  been  instructed  to  spare 
Dr.  Cuyler  all  the  humiliation  they  could.  But 
they  are  policemen,  and  they  are  taking  him  to 
jail.  Think  of  it,  Courtney! — you  will  let  me  call 
you  so,  my  dear? — My  only  child  in  her  cold 
grave,  and  the  man  to  whom  I  gave  her  hi  mar- 


A  NEWSPAPER  BOMB  105 

riage  locked  in  the  common  jail  charged  with  her 
murder!  Oh,  why  wasn't  I  taken  before  I  came 
upon  these  evil  days?" 

My  heart  bled  for  her  in  distress.  I  braced 
myself  to  the  situation  and  did  everything  I  could 
to  soothe  and  quiet  her,  but  I  was  finally  obliged 
to  send  for  Dr.  Penrose.  I  waited  downstairs  until 
he  came  to  assure  me  that  Mrs.  Wilding  was  at  last 
composed  and  able  to  sleep,  then  I  started  home. 
At  the  hedge  I  turned  back  and  asked  for  Marie- 
chen  to  spend  the  night  with  me.  I  was  sud- 
denly afraid  of  my  own  thoughts  and  dreaded  to 
be  left  alone  with  them.  Eloise  dead,  Dr.  Cuyler 
in  jail,  and  N.  P.  gone!  With  Mrs.  Wilding  I 
could  lament  that  I  too  had  fallen  upon  evil  days. 

The  blessed  baby  was  glad  enough  to  leave  that 
subdued  household  for  my  pretty  dining  room 


106  THE  DEATH  CRY 

and  America's  fluffy  sponge  cake  and  ice  cream.  I 
kept  her  up  until  her  head  nodded  like  a  heavy 
rose.  When  I  finally  put  her  to  bed  in  my  own 
room  the  gloomy  forebodings  I  had  been  fighting 
settled  down  upon  me  like  a  pall.  No  tiny  doubt 
of  the  doctor's  innocence  shook  my  faith  in  him 
even  then,  but  I  was  oppressed  with  anxiety  and 
I  felt  terribly  helpless  and  alone. 

Mariechen  and  I  both  slept  late  next  morning 
and  came  down  to  find  America  grumbling  over 
her  waiting  waffle  batter.  I  tied  on  my  small 
guest's  bib,  and  when  she  was  happily  engaged 
with  spoon  and  cup  I  opened  the  still  damp  morn- 
ing paper. 

"DR.  CUYLER  ARRESTED  FOR  MURDER 
OF  HIS  WIFE.  INSTRUMENT  OF  DEATH 
FOUND  IN  WEEDS  NEAR  THE  HOUSE. 


A  NEWSPAPER  BOMB  107 

PHYSICIAN  IS  JOY-RIDING  WITH  PRETTY 
NEIGHBOR  WHILE  OFFICERS  WAIT  TO 
ARREST  HIM." 

The  room  went  round  for  a  moment.  Marie- 
chen's  golden  head  swam  in  a  wavering  sea  of 
light.  I  clutched  the  tablecloth  to  steady  myself, 
and  took  a  deep  draught  from  the  cup  of  hot 
coffee  which  America  had  just  placed  in  front  of 
me.  It  must  be  that  I  had  read  it  wrong.  But 
when  I  gathered  my  courage  to  look  at  the  solid 
print  below,  I  found  it  worse  even  than  I  thought. 

"This  community,  which  a  short  time  ago  was 
greatly  shocked  by  the  brutal  murder  of  Mrs. 
Cuyler,  has  again  been  stirred  to  the  depths  by 
the  arrest  of  the  victim's  husband  as  her  assail- 
ant. Prosecuting  Attorney  Lippman  has  been 
quietly  at  work  upon  the  case  and  has  obtained 


108  THE  DEATH  CRY 

enough  evidence  against  the  physician  to  justify 
his  arrest.  The  most  important  clew  to  the  mur- 
derer was  found  last  Monday  when  men,  sent  tc 
search  for  the  snake  which  Dr.  Cuyler  claimed  to 
have  thrown  in  the  lot  next  to  his  house,  came 
upon  a  silver-headed  cane  marked  with  the  doc- 
tor's initials.  The  heavy  knob  is  stained  with  a 
dark  substance  which  experts  pronounce  to  be 
human  blood.  Dr.  Cuyler,  when  confronted  with 
this  gory  instrument,  acknowledged  freely  that  it 
belonged  to  him,  but  says  he  has  no  idea  how  it 
came  in  the  place  where  it  was  found.  He  stead- 
ily denies  his  guilt.  It  is  his  theory  that  an  in- 
truder whom  he  believes  to  have  been  in  his 
house  during  his  absence  caught  up  the  stick 
from  Mrs.  Cuyler's  bedroom,  and  having  used  it 
in  the  awful  manner  known,  threw  it  into  the 


A  NEWSPAPER  BOMB  109 

weeds  as  he  fled.  This  is,  of  course,  a  plausible 
theory,  but  unfortunately  there  are  other  damn- 
ing facts  which  point  to  the  doctor  as  the  guilty 
man.  The  Prosecuting  Attorney  will  not  give 
these  out  until  the  time  of  the  trial.  One  sig- 
nificant fact  is  the  continued  intimacy  between  the 
doctor  and  a  neighbor  and  former  friend  of  his 
wife.  This  lady's  husband  is  now  absent  from 
the  city,  and  gossip  has  it  that  this  journey  is 
but  a  prelude  to  a  permanent  separation  between 
the  couple.  It  is  known  that  the  lady  in  ques- 
tion has  been  for  some  time  closely  associated 
with  Dr.  Cuyler  in  charitable  work.  The  fact  has 
now  come  to  light  that  these  two — friend  and 
husband  of  the  murdered  woman — had  known 
each  other  previous  to  the  marriage  of  Dr.  and 
Mrs.  Cuyler. 


110  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"A  few  of  the  questions  which  arise  in  the  minds 
of  the  public  are:  How  much  did  Mrs.  Cuyler 
know  of  this  friendship?  Was  she  killed  in  a  fit 
of  rage  when  she  reproached  the  doctor  on  this 
lady's  account?  Or  did  he  remove  her  in  order 
to  make  way  for  the  other  woman?  Feeling  against 
the  physician  is  running  high,  and  it  is  rumored 
that  he  will  not  be  admitted  to  bond." 

For  a  long  tune  I  sat  staring  at  the  paper,  too 
numb  with  surprise  and  misery  to  think.  Then 
slowly  my  anger  began  to  burn.  It  was  my  name 
that  was  flaunted  at  me  through  this  thin  veil 
of  insinuation.  It  was  my  clean  and  honest 
friendship  for  an  honorable  man  that  was  being 
dragged  through  the  mire — it  was  my  friend  that 
I  was  accused  of  betraying.  Oh,  it  was  horrible, 
horrible !  And  utterly  unbelievable !  I  crumpled 


A  NEWSPAPER  BOMB  111 

the  paper  in  my  hand  and  threw  it  under  the 
table.  In  a  minute  I  fished  it  up  again  and  opened 
it  out  upon  the  cloth  where  the  hateful  headlines 
leered  at  me  with  an  almost  human  malevolence. 

How  had  anyone  dared  to  write  such  rotten  stuff 
about  decent  people?  The  editor  of  that  paper 
must  be  a  cur,  I  thought.  Suddenly  another  alarm- 
ing idea  occurred  to  me.  It  was  not  only  my 
name,  but  N.  P.'s  too,  his  fine  old  honorable  name, 
that  was  being  tattled  about  the  town.  I  could 
picture  to  myself  his  emotions  when  his  eye  lit 
on  the  front  page  of  that  paper,  and  I  trembled 
to  think  what  he  would  do  to  the  editor  thereof. 

It  takes  almost  a  cataclysm  to  arouse  N.  P/s 
anger,  he  ig  so  slow,  so  tolerant,  so  self-controlled, 
but  when  the  floodgates  are  open — look  out  for 
the  deluge!  I  saw  it  once,  and  I  have  never  for- 


112  THE  DEATH  CRY 

gotten.  It  was  a  little  while  after  we  were  mar- 
ried; a  colored  chauffeur  was  insolent  to  me.  N. 
P.  overheard,  and  he  burst  out  on  that  darky  just 
like  a  bull,  knocked  him  down,  and  I  almost 
thought  he'd  kill  him  before  he'd  finished.  I  don't 
exactly  like  to  think  about  it  now,  but  sometimes 
when  I'm  provoked  with  N.  P.  for  being  so  easy 
going,  I  pinch  myself  and  remember;  although, 
to  be  sure,  that  was  when  we  were  first  married, 
and  N.  P.  has  calmed  down  considerably  about  me 
since. 

However,  this  newspaper  affair  was  something 
to  arouse  any  man  with  any  self  respect.  I  knew 
N.  P.  would  take  the  first  train  home  after  he  got 
hold  of  it.  True  to  his  habit,  he  always  has  the 
home  papers  follow  him  wherever  he  goes,  so  I 
had  no  hope  that  he  would  not  see  it  while  he  was 


A  NEWSPAPER  BOMB  113 

in  California.  It  was  simply  a  question  of  time. 
I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  might  expect  him  back 
by  the  following  Saturday  at  the  latest. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

N.  P/S  SILENCE 

The  morning  after  the  story  of  Dr.  Cuyler's 
arrest  got  in  the  paper  I  wasn't  a  bit  surprised  on 
looking  in  the  glass  to  discover  my  first  white 
hair.  I  had  lain  awake  most  of  the  night  worrying 
over  the  hideous  net  of  crime  which  was  entang- 
ling me  as  well  as  Dr.  Cuyler ;  worrying,  too,  over 
its  effect  on  poor  N.  P.  If  every  hair  in  my  head 
instead  of  just  one  had  turned  white  I  wouldn't 
have  been  surprised. 

The  whole  thing  was  like  a  bad  dream  from 
which  I  couldn't  waken.  Even  the  broad  light  of 
day  was  not  sufficient  to  dispel  the  gloom  of  my 

114 


N.  P.'S  SILENCE  115 

thoughts.  It  was  unthinkable  that  I,  Courtney 
Temple,  was  being  dragged  through  the  mire  of 
newspaper  publicity  like  the  commonest  kind  of 
woman;  yet  that  incredible  thing  was  the  only 
truth  in  the  matter.  Of  course  every  word  that 
paper  printed  concerning  my  relations  with  Dr. 
Cuyler  was  a  lie.  I  tried  over  and  over  again  in 
the  long  hours  of  the  night  to  persuade  myself 
that  it  was  only  something  I'd  dreamed  about, 
but  the  miserable  truth  was  not  to  be  denied.  The 
paper  had  really  dared  to  write  an  insinuating  ar- 
ticle about  our  friendship. 

Unable  to  sleep,  I  got  out  of  bed  as  soon  as  it 
was  light,  and  after  a  cold  plunge  that  toned  me 
up  a  little,  I  put  on  a  kimona  and  sat  myself  down 
in  front  of  my  dressing  table.  It  was  then  that 
I  discovered  the  white  hair.  I  studied  my  reflec- 


116  THE  DEATH  CRY 

tion  in  the  mirror ;  not  from  vanity,  for  I  was  too 
miserable  to  care  that  my  hair  was  turning  white 
and  that  my  healthy  color  was  bleached  out  to  a 
pasty  grey,  but  with  the  full  determination  to 
probe  my  conscience  to  its  depths. 

The  thing  that  hurt  me  most  of  all  was  a  feeling 
that  somehow  I'd  been  disloyal  to  N.  P.  I  wanted 
to  find  out  if  I  really  had  myself  to  blame,  or  if 
I  was  simply  the  victim  of  circumstances.  To 
begin,  then,  had  there  every  been  anything  in  my 
feelings  or  in  my  attitude  toward  Dr.  Cuyler  to 
discredit  our  decent  friendship?  I  searched  my 
memory  for  the  most  trivial  incident,  going  back 
over  the  years  to  my  earliest  acquaintance  with 
the  handsome  young  physician.  He  had  first 
won  my  liking  and  N.  P.'s  when  he  brought  me 
through  a  severe  attack  of  pneumonia.  I  honestly 


N.  P.'S  SILENCE  117 

couldn't  find  one  thing  I  was  ashamed  to  remem- 
ber. 

N.  P.'s  indulgence,  coupled  with  the  fact  that 
we  have  no  children,  has  made  possible  for  me  a 
much  freer  life  than  most  married  women  have. 
In  that  life  of  sports  as  well  as  of  amusements, 
motoring,  golfing,  dancing,  traveling,  have  been 
many  men  friends  as  well  as  women,  but  N.  P.'s 
implicit  trust  in  me  has  always  kept  a  magic  circle 
around  my  life.  And  I  perfectly  despise  a  married 
flirt. 

Flippant,  careless  I  might  have  been.  And  Dr. 
Cuyler  is  more  than  ordinarily  attractive.  With- 
out him  and  Eloise  I  should  have  had  to  fare  afield 
for  company  many  a  night  when  N.  P.  was  ab- 
sorbed in  business  or  in  his  papers.  But  as  for 
intentional  disloyalty — my  love  of  fair  play  rose 


118  THE  DEATH  CRY 

up  just  here  to  acquit  me  in  the  same  impersonal 
way  it  would  have  acquitted  an  outsider. 

"Courtney  Temple,  you're  an  idiot,"  I  cogitated, 
chin  in  hand.  "You've  got  so  morbid  over  this 
thing  you  can't  tell  black  from  white.  Next  thing 
you'll  be  trying  to  persuade  yourself  you  walked 
over  in  your  sleep  and  murdered  Eloise.  Brace 
up,  old  girl,  and  get  a  little  pep  into  you,  for 
heaven's  sake.  You're  no  queen  of  the  movies. 
You're  just  a  plain,  every-day  woman  whose  hus- 
band is  coming  home,  as  fast  as  he  can  travel,  to 
smash  the  editor  of  that  paper  into  smithereens." 

It  was  a  distinctly  cheering  thought.  The  day 
before,  I  'd  been  in  terror  of  what  N.  P.  would 
do.  Now,  after  my  wretched,  wakeful  night,  I  felt 
a  real  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  he  would  cer- 
tainly do  something  vehement. 


N.  P.'S  SILENCE  119 

So  I  managed  to  whistle  up  my  courage  for  the 
time  being,  but  owing  to  my  husband's  extraordi- 
nary behavior,  it  didn't  last  long.  N.  P.  has  a 
pleasant  habit  of  sending  me  a  telegram  or  a 
night  letter  every  day  or  so  while  he  is  away.  He 
simply  hates  to  write,  but  he  wants  to  hear,  so 
that  is  the  way  he  gets  around  me.  I  had  a  night 
letter  from  him  as  usual  on  this  doleful  Friday, 
and  for  several  days  after  I  heard  in  the  same 
way.  When  the  fifth  day  brought  another  of  those 
night  letters  making  no  reference  to  the  newspaper 
account,  and  the  sixth  day  and  the  seventh  and 
the  eighth — well,  I  didn't  know  what  to  think. 

I've  always  heard  there's  no  punishment  like 
suspense,  and  I  believe  it  now.  As  I  said  before, 
the  fear  that  I  first  had  of  N.  P.'s  rage  on  coming 
home  had  merged  into  a  kind  of  righteous  satis- 


120  THE  DEATH  CRY 

faction  in  the  anticipation.  Soon  that  changed 
into  burning  indignation  when  he  didn't  come  or 
even  refer  to  the  matter  in  the  daily  telegrams  I 
received. 

Was  he  more  indifferent  than  I  had  supposed? 
Did  he  really  not  care  what  I  did  as  long  as  I 
didn't  interfere  with  his  precious  business?  Was 
he  furious,  or  disgusted?  Was  he  even  now  in- 
stituting divorce  proceedings  against  me  in  Cali- 
fornia? 

Round  and  round  in  the  treadmill  of  my  mind 
these  questions  whirled,  and  no  grist  in  the  shape 
of  a  solution  to  the  puzzle  ever  rewarded  me.  A 
new  white  hair  came  every  morning.  America, 
alarmed  at  my  dwindling  appetite,  fairly  outshone 
herself  in  the  preparation  of  my  dainty  meals, 
but  her  best  results  were  dust  and  ashes  on  my 


N.  P.'S  SILENCE  121 

lips.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  my  neighbors'  troubles 
and  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Wilding  kept  me  pretty 
busy,  I  think  I  should  have  taken  the  tram  for 
California  in  an  attempt  to  clear  up  matters  for 
myself. 

Eloise's  mother  had  come  to  regard  me  as  the 
final  resort  in  every  emergency.  She  called  me  up 
to  know  what  to  give  Mariechen  to  eat;  what 
privileges  to  allow  the  second  girl;  to  find  out 
what  dessert  Dr.  Cuyler  liked  best  (this  was  before 
his  arrest.)  All  the  thousand  and  one  crises  of 
housekeeping  she  trustfully  referred  to  me. 

Even  in  matters  outside  the  house  I  had  to  take 
a  hand.  There  was  the  time  the  man  came  from 
the  florist's  with  some  plants  Eloise  had  ordered 
early  in  the  spring.  Mrs.  Wilding  didn't  know 
where  they  were  to  be  put.  Would  dear  Courtney 
please  come  over  and  show  him? 


122  THE  DEATH  CRY 

I  didn't  know  either,  but  I  said  I  would  come. 
I  found  the  florist's  man,  a  mild  spectacled  per- 
son, waiting  patiently  on  the  side  verandah,  a 
great  hamper  of  plants  beside  him. 

"All  these?"  I  exclaimed  in  dismay.  "Are  you 
sure  that  Mrs.  Cuyler  ordered  all  these?" 

"Yes,  ma'am.    Here's  the  bill  for  them." 

"But  this  isn't  the  time  of  year  for  setting  out 
plants."  I  glanced  toward  the  garden,  shimmering 
with  color  in  the  warm  June  sunshine.  "It's  too 
late  for  these  things  now." 

The  florist's  man  was  apologetic. 

"Well,  ma'am,  to  be  sure,  it  is.  But  these  are 
very  rare  varieties  sent  especially  for  Mrs.  Cuyler, 
and  we  had  some  trouble  in  getting  them.  They 
ought  to  have  been  here  a  month  or  six  weeks  ago. 
They  came  in  a  shipment  to  us  this  morning,  and 


N.  P.'S  SILENCE  123 

Mr.  Harrowgate  told  me  to  bring  them  right  over." 
"Well,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  to  take  them  right 
back,"  I  began,  determined  not  to  be  imposed 
upon.  And  then  I  check  my  hasty  speech.  Was 
it  my  place  to  give  orders  here?  I  suddenly  saw 
the  matter  in  the  light  of  the  town's  gossip.  This 
would  be  a  nice  tidbit  for  the  Morning  Gazette. 
"Mrs.  Cuyler's  friend  countermands  her  orders, 
given  before  her  death."  I  looked  keenly  at  the 
little  man.  How  did  I  know  that  he  was  not 
in  the  employ  of  the  paper  itself?  He  looked  in- 
nocent enough,  but  I  had  no  assurance  that  he 
wouldn't  go  straight  from  the  garden  to  the  editor 
of  the  Gazette  with  this  new  item.  I  was  trusting 
nobody  these  days.  So  I  changed  my  tone  and 
asked  blandly. 

"What  would  you  advise  about  them?  Of  course 
I  want  to  do  as  Mrs.  Cuyler  would  wish." 


124  THE  DEATH  CRY 

The  shade  on  his  face  lifted  perceptibly.  "Well, 
I  think  there's  several  of  these  that  can  be  set 
out  all  right.  It's  too  late  for  some,  and  those  I'll 
have  to  take  back  to  the  greenhouse.  We  might 
sort  them  over  if  you  can  spare  the  tune." 

He  began  unpacking  the  hamper  with  careful 
hands.  V.  V.  trotted  up  and  commenced  sniffing 
at  the  man's  feet. 

"Don't  mind  him,"  I  said  reassuringly.  "He 
won't  bother  you." 

"Oh,  I  know  this  dog,"  he  answered.  He  gave 
V.  V.  a  friendly  pat.  "We  got  acquainted  a  while 
back  when  I  took  this  order.  Now,  here's  a  Ca- 
mellia Japonica.  That'YL  have  to  go  back,  all  right. 
And  these  Gefion  Phlox.  I  don't  believe  we'd 
better  risk  these  hi  the  open  ground.  But  now 
these  Pompom  Chrysanthemums  and  the  Delphi- 


N.  P.'S  SILENCE  125 

nium — they  can  go  in  as  well  now  as  earlier.  Shall 
I  set  'em  out  for  you,  ma'am?  Mrs.  Cuyler  talked 
them  over  with  me  when  I  took  the  order,  and  I 
know  about  where  she  meant  to  put  'em." 

"Do,"  I  assented  with  relief.  "I  know  very  little 
about  gardening,  and  I  suppose  you  know  a  lot." 

"Quite  a  bit,  yes,  ma'am,"  he  answered  mod- 
estly. "I've  always  loved  flowers,  and  I've  worked 
with  them  on  and  off  most  of  my  life.  I  wouldn't 
want  to  do  anything  to  spoil  this  garden,  either. 
It's  about  the  prettiest  in  town  according  to  my 
notion." 

He  set  to  work  with  enthusiasm,  talking  un- 
expectedly well  about  the  flowers  and  their  likes 
and  dislikes.  I  watched  him  with  a  new  ache  in 
my  heart.  Eloise's  flowers,  frail,  ephemeral  things, 
were  alive  and  blooming  hi  the  sweet  summer  sun- 


126  THE  DEATH  CRY 

shine,  while  Eloise — I  caught  myself  up  sharply. 
I  was  getting  too  much  in  this  habit  of  dismal 
reverie. 

"What  about  all  these  bulbs?"  I  inquired. 
"What  can  we  do  with  them?" 

"Oh,  they'll  keep  nicely  until  fall  if  you  put  'em 
in  a  dark  place.  All  but  these  iris.  Fall's  the  time 
for  setting  out  tulips,  hyacinths  and  daffodils,  but 
iris  is  different.  You  dig  'em  up  in  the  fall  and 
set  'em  out  again  in  the  spring." 

"We  might  try  putting  these  out  now,"  I  sug- 
gested, beginning  to  grow  interested  in  the  matter. 
"That  hedge  has  nearly  stopped  blooming.  Why 
shouldn't  we  dig  up  some  of  those  plants  and  put 
in  these  bulbs  instead?" 

The  little  man  was  horrified. 

"Oh,  no,  ma'am.    I  guess  you  don't  understand 


N.  P.'S  SILENCE  127 

about  these  iris.  They're  something  very  special 
— Paleta,  they're  called — and  the  bulbs  cost  three 
dollars  apiece.  The  hedge  is  just  Japanese  iris, 
pretty  enough,  but  nothing  like  these  rare  ones." 

"I  see,"  I  replied  with  proper  awe.  "We  mustn't 
insult  these  aristocrats  by  putting  them  with  the 
common  herd.  But  oughtn't  something  be  done 
with  that  hedge?  It  seems  to  me  it's  entirely  too 
thick.  We  might  thin  it  out  a  bit,  anyway.  I'd 
like  to  keep  it  in  good  condition,  Mrs.  Cuyler  was 
so  proud  of  it." 

He  tried  to  conceal  how  greatly  my  benighted 
state  of  ignorance  shocked  him. 

"It's  perfect  just  as  it  is  now,"  he  declared 
anxiously.  "You'll  make  a  great  mistake  if  you 
touch  it,  if  you'll  excuse  my  saying  so.  Take  out 
a  clump  here  and  there,  and  you'll  never  have 
the  same  unbroken  symmetry  again." 


128  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"Very  well,"  I  acquiesced,  a  little  weary  of  the 
subject.  "I'll  let  it  alone,  and  I'm  much  obliged 
to  you  for  the  interest  you've  taken.  You  can 
leave  this  bill  with  me.  Dr.  Cuyler  will  settle  it 
with  Mr.  Harrowgate." 

He  bade  me  a  pleasant  good-morning,  and  de- 
parted. I  gave  no  further  thought  to  the  little 
episode  then,  but  I've  wondered  since  if  things 
might  not  have  been  different  had  I  followed  my 
impulse  and  insisted  then  and  there  upon  the  thin- 
ning of  the  hedge. 


CHAPTER  IX 
AT  1:10 

"Miss  Co'tney,  is  you-all  heerd  'bout  de  hant 
at  de  doctah's?" 

I  looked  up  from  my  desk  to  see  the  fat  form 
of  our  cook  standing  in  the  doorway,  her  cushiony 
black  hands  resting  on  her  hips.  It  was  the  day 
after  my  interview  with  the  florist's  man  in  Elo- 
ise's  garden.  No  more  recent  emergency  had  arisen 
requiring  my  assistance  at  the  Cuylers',  and  I  was 
devoting  the  temporary  lull  to  an  overhauling  of 
my  papers  and  bills. 

"No,  I  hadn't  heard,"  I  replied.  "What  kind 
of  a  haunt  is  it?"  The  quickest  way  to  get  rid 

129 


130  THE  DEATH  CRY 

of  America  is  to  let  her  say  her  say  and  be  done 
with  it. 

"Hit's  a  bell,"  she  told  me,  nodding  her  head 
mysteriously. 

"A  bell?  What  sort  of  a  bell?  What  does  it  do?" 

"Hit  rings.  Yas'm,  hit  rings  ebery  night  at  de 
time  Mis'  Cuyler  was  done  killed.  An'  Mis'  Wild- 
ing, she  just  about  crazy  in  de  haid." 

"America,"  I  said  sternly,  "what  nonsense  are 
you  talking?  If  anything  were  wrong  or  out  of 
the  ordinary  at  the  Cuylers',  I'm  sure  that  Mrs. 
Wilding  would  have  sent  for  me." 

"Yas'm,  that  whut  she  do  now.  That  no-count, 
light-complexion  Melba,  she  say  will  you-all  come 
ovah  'cause  Mis'  Wilding  she  ain't  feeling  lak  she 
ought  to.  An'  Melba,  she  say  dat  bell  sure  does 
ring  loud.  She  and  de  nuss  gal  dey  heerd  it  'way 


AT  1:10  131 

up  in  de  third  story  and  hit  lak  to  scared  'em 
white!" 

I  went  over  to  Mrs.  Wilding,  wondering  what 
fresh  thrust  Fate  had  given  the  little  lady.  I 
hadn't  paid  much  attention  to  America's  story, 
but  to  my  surprise  Mrs.  Wilding  practically  con- 
firmed it. 

"The  first  time  I  heard  the  bell,"  she  said  in 
response  to  my  question,  "was  four  nights  ago, 
the  Monday  after  Vincent's  arrest.  It  pealed 
through  the  house,  and  I  sprang  up,  thinking 
it  was  the  telephone.  But  when  I  took  down  the 
receiver  Central  declared  that  no  one  had  called. 
I  went  back  to  bed,  almost  convinced  that  it  had 
been  part  of  a  dream.  The  next  night  it  came 
again,  and  last  night,  too ;  and  always  at  the  same 
time." 


132  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"And  that  time  was?"  I  asked  fearfully.  Our 
eyes  met. 

"It  was  ten  minutes  after  one  precisely." 

This  was  the  approximate  hour  at  which  it  had 
been  decided  that  Eloise  met  her  death.  Mrs. 
Wilding's  white  face  and  trembling  hands  told 
that  she  was  aware  of  this  coincidence. 

"Well,"  I  said  briskly,  after  a  moment's  reflec- 
tion, "we'll  solve  the  mystery  without  any  more 
ado.  I'll  telephone  an  electrician  and  have  the 
house  wires  examined." 

But,  to  my  surprise,  Mrs.  Wilding  put  out  a 
frail  hand  to  detain  me. 

"My  dear,  I  wish  you  wouldn't.  Not  now,  at 
any  rate." 

"Not  have  the  matter  investigated?  But  why, 
dear  Mrs.  Wilding?  Don't  you  want  to  know 
what  is  causing  that  strange  ringing?" 


AT  1:10  133 

"No,  I'm  not  sure  that  I  do,"  she  answered 
bravely,  though  her  face  flushed  with  embarrass- 
ment. "I  know  you'll  think  me  a  superstitious 
old  woman,  but  I  have  a  feeling  that  it  would  be 
better  for  us  all  if  we  made  no  effort  to  fathom 
this  mystery." 

"You  don't — surely  you  don't  think  it  is  con- 
nected with  Eloise  in  any  way?" 

She  looked  down  for  a  moment  in  silence,  then 
spoke  with  soft  firmness. 

"Courtney,  it's  like  this.  The  winter  before 
Eloise  was  married  she  had  an  illness  which  was 
largely  a  nervous  one.  She  did  not  care  for  the 
nurse  we  had  for  her,  and  she  often  wanted  me 
to  sit  with  her,  especially  when  she  could  not 
sleep  at  night.  I  had  a  bell  put  in  my  room  with 
the  button  at  the  head  of  her  bed,  and  when  she 


134  THE  DEATH  CRY 

grew  too  nervous  to  sleep  she  would  touch  this 
button,  and  the  bell  rang  in  my  room.  Then 
I  would  go  and  sit  with  her  until  she  grew  quiet. 
Now — it  rings  just  as  it  did  before,  and  I  can't — 
try  as  I  will — I  can't  rid  myself  of  the  idea  that 
my  child  is  calling  me — is  wanting  me  even  in  the 
place  where  she  is  gone." 

Mrs.  Wilding  buried  her  face  in  her  handker- 
chief and  sobbed  quietly.  I  stood  aghast  at  this 
revelation.  I  did  not  doubt  for  an  instant  that 
there  was  some  perfectly  natural  explanation  of 
the  bell,  and  it  horrified  me  to  think  of  the  long 
hours  of  suffering  this  already  heart-broken 
mother  had  endured. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Wilding,"  I  exclaimed,  "let  me  stay 
with  you  tonight  and  hear  this  bell  for  myself. 
Perhaps  I  can  explain  it  for  you  without  any 
outside  help." 


AT  1:10  135 

She  grasped  my  arm  convulsively. 

"You  must  not  ask  anyone  about  it.  I  will 
not  have  this  talked  over  by  "outsiders  who  would 
see  nothing  in  it  but  an  old  woman's  ridiculous 
superstition.  I  would  not  have  mentioned  it  at 
all,  but  that  the  maids  have  heard  it,  and  I  knew 
they  had  spoken  of  it  to  your  cook.  You'll  prom- 
ise me?  Thank  you,  my  dear.  And  I  shall  be  very- 
glad  if  you  will  stay  with  me  tonight." 

So  it  was  settled,  and  when  the  time  came  I  was 
on  hand  for  my  investigation. 

Mrs.  Wilding  seemed  grateful  for  my  compan- 
ionship, but  she  retired  early,  leaving  me  alone 
in  the  Cuylers'  guest  room.  I  did  not  go  to  bed; 
I  merely  exchanged  my  gown  for  a  negligee  and 
sat  down  with  a  book  to  await  the  hour  of  one. 
The  book  was  not  interesting,  but  my  thoughts 


136  THE  DEATH  CRY 

were,  and  I  spent  the  time  alternately  in  the  re- 
hearsal of  scathing  speeches  which  I  would  de- 
liver to  N.  P.  if  I  ever  saw  him  again,  and  in 
speculation  about  Dr.  Cuyler  in  his  lonely  cell. 
The  little  Dresden  clock  on  the  shelf  at  last 
pointed  to  one. 

I  turned  off  my  light  and  went  softly  into  the 
hall.  I  seated  myself  on  the  top  step  and  waited 
breathlessly,  my  teeth  clicking  together  as  I  re- 
membered what  had  taken  place  at  this  hour  of 
another  night  in  the  room  across  the  hall.  Would 
the  mystery  of  that  tragedy  ever  be  solved?  Would 
we  ever  know  whose  feet  made  their  stealthy 
way  up  the  steps,  halted  before  the  door  of  the 
blue  room,  and  passed  hi  on  their  sinister  errand? 

Ting-a-ling  aling!  Loud  and  sharp  through 
the  house  pealed  a  bell.  Listening  for  it  though  I 


AT  I'lO  137 

was,  I  started  violently  at  the  sound.  It  was  so 
shrilling,  so  insistent!  I  tried  to  decide  from  what 
part  of  the  house  it  originated,  but  other  than 
that  I  judged  it  to  come  from  beyond  the  hall,  I 
could  not  locate  the  source.  It  rang  for  perhaps 
ten  seconds,  then  stopped,  though  the  echoes 
seemed  to  linger  for  much  longer.  A  moment 
later  a  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Wilding  appeared 
in  the  hall. 

"You  hear?"  she  asked  me  quietly.  Her  face  was 
very  white,  but  she  seemed  not  to  be  afraid.  "0 
Eloise,  my  child!  What  is  it  you  want  of  your 
mother?" 

I  shook  off  the  numbness  that  enveloped  me. 

"I'm  going  down  to  the  kitchen  and  look 
around,"  I  announced  firmly.  "Someone  is  play- 
ing upon  your  natural  grief  by  a  cowardly  trick." 


138  THE  DEATH  CRY 

But  she  put  her  arms  around  me  and  clung 
piteously. 

"Don't,  Courtney,  please  don't!  I  don't  want 
you  to  do  anything  about  it.  And  it  wouldn't  be 
worth  while  anyway.  I've  thought  this  over  care- 
fully and  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is 
a  warning  of  my  own  end. .  My  daughter  is  telling 
me  in  this  way  that  I  am  to  join  her  in  death  as  I 
went  to  her  hi  illness.  I  accept  it  as  such.  God 
knows  I'm  glad  to  go." 

There  was  nothing  I  could  say  which  shook  her 
in  this  morbid  conviction.  I  recognized  the  fact 
that  her  nerves  had  not  recovered  from  the  awful 
shock  they  had  received.  It  was  useless  to  argue 
with  her,  but  I  resolved  in  my  own  mind  to  do  a 
little  quiet  investigating  in  the  morning.  I  felt 
I  could  look  about  and  still  keep  the  letter  of  my 
promise  to  Mrs.  Wilding. 


AT  1:10  139 

But  when  morning  came  I  entered  upon  a  day 
which  drove  all  thought  of  the  mysterious  bell 
from  my  mind.  I  hope  that  I  may  never  spend 
another  such  twelve  hours.  It  all  grew  out  of  the 
desire  to  be  of  service  to  Mrs.  Wilding.  At  the 
breakfast  table  she  asked  me  if  I  would  perform 
two  tasks  for  her — tasks  which  she  herself  dreaded 
to  undertake.  Of  course,  I  assured  her  of  my 
willingness  to  help  her  in  any  way  I  could. 

"First,"  she  said,  playing  nervously  with  her 
fork,  "is  to  put  away  Eloise's  clothes.  I  spoke  to 
Vincent  about  them,  and  he  wishes  everything 
given  away  except  a  few  things  which  are  to  be 
kept  for  Mariechen.  It  is  my  duty  to  attend  to 
this,  I  know,  but  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  handle 
the  garments  which  are  so  closely  associated  with 

Ejfv 

my  darling.    Will  you — is  it  asking  too  much  to 


140  THE  DEATH  CRY 

desire  you  to  do  this  for  us — for  Mariechen  and 
me?" 

"Certainly  not,"  I  answered.  "I  will  begin  di- 
rectly after  breakfast.  And  the  other  thing  you 
wanted  done?" 

"Is  to  go  to  the  cemetery  and  see  if  they  have 
sodded  the  grave  as  Vincent  directed.  He  sent  me 
word  yesterday  that  he  would  like  to  have  me  see 
to  it.  I  suppose  you  will  think  me  a  very  useless 
somebody  not, to  do  these  things  myself  but, 
Courtney,  I  dread  it  so — " 

"I  know,"  I  told  her  gently.  "Don't  worry 
about  it,  dear  Mrs.  Wilding.  I  will  see  to  it  this 
very  afternoon." 

We  were  about  to  leave  the  table  when  the  door 
leading  from  the  pantry  was  flung  open  and  Amer- 
ica made  an  unceremonious  entrance. 


AT  1:10  141 

"Foh  de  Ian'  sakes,  Miss  Co'tney,  what  kind  of 
gwines  on  is  dese?  Ghos'es  in  dis  house  an'  ghos'es 
in  de  rideabout  barn,  and  burglars  in  we-all's 
house." 

"Burglars  in  our  house?  What  in  the  world, 
America?" 

"Yas'm.  In  Mr.  Nat's  house  dey  wuz."  Amer- 
ica rolled  her  eyes  with  unction.  "Sure  as  yo' 
bawn,  Miss  Co'tney,  dey  been  dar  dis  very  night. 
I  went  in  yo'  room  dis  mawnin'  to  air  it  out  and 
you  jes  ought  to  see  whut  I  done  seed!  De  desk 
all  open,  and  de  drawers  all  emptied  out  an'  de 
debbil  to  pay  sho.  You-all  jes  come  and  look." 

I  acted  upon  her  advice  at  once,  assuring  Mrs. 
Wilding  that  I  would  return  as  soon  as  I  had  seen 
to  my  affairs. 

I  found  things  as  America  had  said.  My  desk 


142  THE  DEATH  CRY 

had  been  ransacked,  and  the  contents  of  both 
chiffonier  and  dressing  table  emptied  upon  the 
floor.  I  made  a  careful  inspection  of  the  confu- 
sion but  I  could  not  see  that  a  single  article  was 
missing.  My  purse  lay  as  I  had  placed  it,  in  a 
small  inside  drawer  of  the  desk.  To  be  sure,  this 
drawer  was  very  tiny  and  unobtrusively  placed, 
but  it  seemed  incredible  that  the  thief  should  not 
have  found  it,  especially  when  he  had  the  place 
to  himself  for  an  unlimited  length  of  time. 

I  decided  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  summon 
the  police  and  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  telephone 
when  I  picked  up  a  slip  of  paper  which  speedily 
caused  me  to  change  my  mind.  It  was  a  half 
sheet  of  my  own  notepaper  and  it  bore  the  single 
word,  "Ruenna,"  written  over  and  over  on  it. 
The  writing  was  the  same  as  that  of  the  anony- 


AT  1:10  143 

mous  letters  with  which  I  had  grown  so  unpleas- 
antly familiar.  As  I  stood  looking  at  the  minute 
scrap  pregnant  with  unuttered  meaning  Dr.  Cuy- 
ler's  face  rose  before  me — white,  drawn,  marked 
with  unmistakable  horror  as  I  recalled  it  when 
I  had  seen  that  name  before.  I  realized  suddenly 
that  this  was  no  ordinary  housebreaker  who  ig- 
nored money  but  possessed  himself  of  notepaper. 

Who  was  Ruennaf  The  question  beat  upon  my 
brain  with  insistent  force.  A  woman's  name  of 
course.  Was  she  young?  Was  she  beautiful? 
Above  all  what  could  she  have  been  to  Vincent 
Cuyler?  "Ask  him  about  the  other  woman."  For 
the  first  time  those  letters  began  to  assume  im- 
portance in  my  mind. 

I  put  the  bit  of  paper  away  and  set  about  re- 
storing order  to  the  room.  It  would  not  do  to 


144  THE  DEATH  CRY 

call  the  police.  They  could  give  me  no  help  in 
this  matter  and  it  might  well  be  that  an  inspec- 
tion of  the  place  would  lead  to  some  damaging  evi- 
dence against  the  doctor.  I  was  wholly  convinced 
of  his  innocence;  I  was  perfectly  sure  that  noth- 
ing really  incriminating  could  be  found  against 
him.  And  yet — and  yet — I  could  not  put  the  re- 
membrance of  his  moment's  terror  from  my  mind. 

I  had  dismissed  America  to  her  work  some  min- 
utes before  and  I  sought  her  now  to  warn  her 
against  speaking  of  the  burglary — if  one  can  call 
it  a  burglary  when  nothing  of  value  has  been 
taken — then  I  went  back  to  Mrs.  Wilding. 

I  had  not  entered  Eloise'  room  since  she  had 
left  it  for  the  last  tune.  Involuntarily  my  eyes 
travelled  to  the  bed  and  then  to  the  blue  couch 
where  she  had  lain  on  that  last  sad  day.  Only 


AT  1:10  145 

a  rug  before  the  bed  made  the  room  seem  differ- 
ent from  the  way  I  had  seen  it  hundreds  of  times 
before.  But  no  gracious  figure  moved  about  here 
now,  no  lovely  voice  bade  me  welcome  as  it  had 
so  many  times  when  I  ran  in  for  a  morning  chat. 
All  that  was  left  to  remind  me  of  Eloise  here  were 
her  dainty  garments  and  appurtenances — and  un- 
der the  rug  a  brown  stain. 

It  was  eyrie  work  handling  those  clothes.  I 
took  from  the  drawers  piles  of  fine  lingerie  and 
sorted  them  out  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  Her 
ivory  brushes  and  toilet  furnishings  I  packed  care- 
fully away;  her  jewels  I  shut  safely  into  a  curi- 
ous metal  casket  which  stood  on  the  dressing  ta- 
ble and  left  it  there  for  her  husband's  disposal. 
Then  I  went  to  the  clothes  closet  and  began  re- 
moving the  gowns.  Each  had  its  intimate  asso- 


146  THE  DEATH  CRY 

elation  with  the  wearer.  There  was  the  lavender 
dimity  that  Eloise  sometimes  wore  mornings;  a 
white  crepe  dinner  gown;  a  black  lace  that  had 
formed  a  perfect  setting  for  her  fair  beauty.  I 
lifted  down  the  blue  neglige  I  had  seen  on  the  foot 
of  her  bed  on  that  dreadful  night  and  as  I  held  it 
for  a  moment  in  my  arms  I  thought  that  in  all  pro- 
bability it  was  the  last  gown  my  friend  had  ever 
worn. 

Was  she  happy  when  she  donned  it  for  that  last 
time?  Was  she  thinking  lovingly  of  her  little 
daughter's  birthday  on  the  morrow?  And  was  her 
heart  warm  with  love  for  her  husband  because  of 
his  thoughtful  gift?  I  wondered  where  that  brace- 
let was  now  and  if  it  was  really  for  that  Eloise 
had  been  killed.  It  was  a  beautiful  jewel  and  it 
was  not  beyond  the  bounds  of  probability  some 


AT  110  147 

passerby  had  seen  its  brilliant  sparkle  and  that 
his  cupidity  had  been  excited. 

I  shook  the  gown  gently  to  straighten  out  its 
hanging  folds,  as  I  carried  it  toward  the  cedar 
chest  in  which  I  meant  to  lay  it.  Was  I  mistaken 
in  thinking  I  had  caught  a  gleam  of  gems  in  those 
soft  folds?  I  walked  toward  the  window  and  ex- 
amined the  pretty  thing  carefully.  There  in  a  tiny 
handkerchief  pocket  inside  the  gown  was  the 
bracelet — the  sapphire  bracelet  that  Vincent  Cuy- 
ler  had  given  his  wife. 

So  there  had  been  no  robbery!  Had  there  been 
no  robber?  My  very  soul  sickened  as  I  realized 
what  this  admission  implied.  If  it  was  not  a 
burglar,  who  then  had  killed  Eloise? 

Suddenly  I  thrust  the  bracelet  hi  the  breast  of 
my  gown.  I  would  not  tell  of  my  discovery;  until 


148  THE  DEATH  CRY 

after  the  trial,  at  any  rate,  I  thought  fiercely. 
There  was  enough  damaging  evidence  against  him 
without  this. 

My  silence  and  pallor  when  I  came  down  stairs 
were  set  down  to  the  trying  task  I  had  just  fin- 
ished, and  Mrs.  Wilding  was  full  of  soft  remorse 
at  having  put  this  strain  upon  me.  She  was  in- 
sistent that  I  stay  for  luncheon  but  this  I  resolute- 
ly declined.  I  felt  that  I  must  get  away  from  this 
house  of  tragedy  and  mystery  for  a  time.  And  I 
had  yet  to  fulfill  the  second  of  Mrs.  Wilding's  re- 
quests. 

So  I  escaped  to  the  haven  of  my  home ;  to  the 
reassuring  presence  of  America,  who  touched  by 
my  white  face  tucked  me  up  on  my  couch,  brought 
me  a  bountiful  lunch  on  a  tray,  and  insisted  with 


AT  1:10  149 

autocratic  kindness  that  I  take  a  rest  before  going 
out  that  afternoon. 

I  obeyed  her  willingly,  for  I  had  been  pretty 
well  shaken  up  by  the  morning's  work. 


CHAPTER  X 

BUENNA 

The  little  sleep  refreshed  me  and  about  three 
o'clock  I  got  out  the  Blue  Jay  and  drove  to  the 
cemetery.  Mrs.  Wilding  had  told  me  where  to 
find  the  grave,  and  I  went  directly  to  it.  The  men 
were  even  then  at  work  upon  it,  but  I  could  see 
as  I  reached  the  place  that  they  had  not  accomp- 
lished much.  Indeed  the  flowers  still  lay,  brown 
and  withered,  in  great,  masses  upon  the  mound,  en- 
tirely concealing  the  earth  below. 

"We're  a  little  late  getting  at  this  job,"  one  of 
the  men  explained,  touching  his  hat  respectfully. 


RUENNA  151 

and  had  to  wait  till  we  could  get  another  load.  But 
we'll  have  this  done  in  an  hour,  sure." 

I  stood  watching  them  as  they  lifted  off  what 
had  so  lately  been  exquisite  blossoms.  These  they 
tossed  aside  and  began  to  loosen  the  earth,  prepa- 
ratory to  placing  the  sod  upon  it.  An  exclamation 
from  one  of  the  men  startled  me.  I  came  nearer 
and  saw  the  man  stoop  and  pick  up  some  object 
from  the  ground. 

"My  shovel  struck  against  it,"  he  said,  and 
handed  it  to  me  as  though  he  recognized  my  right 
to  examine  it.  The  object  proved  to  be  a  pack- 
age, wrapped  in  a  fold  of  oilcloth  and  tied  with  a 
string.  Wondering,  I  broke  the  cord  and  bent 
over  what  lay  within.  A  photograph  confronted 
me.  With  a  presentiment  of  what  it  was  I  hasti- 
ly rewrapped  it  and  spoke  to  the  men. 


152  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"I  will  take  this  with  me,"  I  told  them.  "It  is 
something  which  must  be  given  to  the  lady's  hus- 
band," and  without  waiting  for  their  comments 
or  objections  if  they  were  minded  to  make  any,  I 
walked  away.  But  before  I  left  the  cemetery  I 
sought  a  bench  under  a  tree  in  a  secluded  corner 
and  examined  the  picture  with  care.  It  was  the 
face  of  a  woman — a  young  and  beautiful  woman, 
I  should  say.  The  eyes  were  large  and  expressive; 
the  lips  full  and  a  trifle  sensuous;  heavy  masses 
of  dark  hair  crowned  her  head.  The  dress  was  hi 
the  fashion  of  some  years  ago;  ten  or  twelve  as 
nearly  as  I  could  determine.  The  pasteboard  be- 
low had  been  cut  away,  undoubtedly  to  destroy 
the  name  of  the  photographer  and  the  city  in 
which  it  had  been  taken.  I  turned  it  over  and  on 
the  back  were  some  words  clear  and  black  as 


RUENNA  153 

though  freshly  written.  As  I  recognized  the  hate- 
ful writing  which  confronted  me  at  every  point  I 
could  scarcely  repress  a  shudder.  The  name  was 
"RUENNA,"  and  underneath  was  written  "THE 
OTHER  WOMAN." 

Here  was  a  clue  with  a  vengeance.  Not  only 
the  name  but  the  likeness  of  the  woman  in  the 
case.  I  thought  despairingly  that  the  toils  were 
certainly  closing  around  Vincent  Cuyler  and  I 
seemed  fated  to  be  the  instrument  of  his  undoing. 
If  this  should  come  to  the  notice  of  the  Prosecut- 
ing Attorney — but  he  should  never  know  of  its 
existence,  I  told  myself  with  determination.  I 
would  put  it  away  with  the  sapphire  bracelet  and 
the  slip  of  paper  I  had  found  on  my  bedroom  floor 
that  morning — how  long  ago  it  seemed!  and 
when  this  trial  was  over  and  Dr.  Cuyler  walked 


154  THE  DEATH  CRY 

among  his  friends  a  free  and  vindicated  man,  I 
would  give  them  into  his  care.  So  I  planned  con- 
fidently; but  even  as  I  tied  the  string  once  more 
about  the  oilcloth  covering,  a  hand  was  extended 
and  a  stern  voice  said, 

"I'll  take  that,  Mrs.  Temple,  if  you  please." 
I  turned  with  a  start  and  my  eyes  met  those  of 
Bailey,  the  detective.  How  long  he  had  been  be- 
hind me  I  had  no  means  of  knowing.  I  after- 
wards found  that  he  had  been  watching  me — sha- 
dowing, is  the  detestable  way  they  put  it,  I  be- 
lieve— ever  since  Dr.  Cuyler  was  placed  in  jail. 
He  had  followed  me  to  the  cemetery;  had  stood  at 
a  little  distance  while  I  talked  to  the  men;  had 
seen  them  give  an  object  of  some  sort  into  my 
hand;  and  then  he  had  crept  up  behind  me  and 
had  tried  to  see  over  my  shoulder  what  it  was  that 
was  occupying  my  earnest  attention. 


RUENNA  155 

It  didn't  take  me  long  to  recover  from  my  aston- 
ishment at  seeing  him  and  I  was  so  angry  that  it 
never  occurred  to  me  to  feel  afraid. 

"I'll  take  that,"  he  repeated. 

"I  think  you  won't,"  I  told  him  coolly. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  will,  my  dear  madam.  That  object 
interests  me  immensely.  You  see,  I  saw  where  it 
came  from  and  it's  certain  to  have  some  connec- 
tion with  the  murder.  So  just  hand  it  over  and 
save  yourself  trouble." 

"What  trouble?  Do  you  mean  to  try  to  take  it 
from  me  by  force?  I  think  I  wouldn't  if  I  were 
you.  You  look  pretty  soft,"  I  told  him  cruelly. 
"And  if  worst  came  to  the  worst  I  can  always  use 
my  lungs,  you  know.  There  is  a  man  mowing  the 
grass  not  a  hundred  feet  away." 

"I'm  not  going  to  take  it  from  you,"  he  replied 


156  THE  DEATH  CRY 

with  annoyance.    "I  demand  that  you  give  it  to 
me  in  the  name  of  the  law,"  he  finished  pompous- 

!y- 

I  laughed. 

"Keep  that  sort  of  bravado  for  some  ignorant 
girl  or  frightened  old  woman.  I  know  that  you 
have  no  authority  to  demand  this.  You  are  not 
an  officer  yourself  and  even  if  you  were  you  have 
no  papers  which  entitle  you  to  make  such  a  de- 
mand. This  package  has  been  placd  in  my  hands 
to  deliver  to  Dr.  Cuyler  and  it  will  stay  in  my 
care  until  I  have  fulfilled  my  trust.  Now  are  you 
satisfied  that  you  will  not  get  it?  Then  please 
stand  aside;  I  am  going." 

He  opened  and  shut  his  mouth  several  times 
but  the  words  he  wanted — words  which  would 
overwhelm  me  with  the  sense  of  my  own  audaci- 


RUENNA  157 

ty  and  irreverence,  would  not  come.  I  passed  him 
without  a  glance  and  walked  hurriedly  out  of  the 
gate.  Once  in  the  Blue  Jay  I  threw  on  the  power 
and  sped  swiftly  down  the  boulevard.  Over  my 
shoulder  I  saw  the  detective  climb  into  the  ma- 
chine which  was  waiting  for  him  and  start  after 
me.  He  was  following  me — actually  he  dared! 

I  led  that  miserable  Bailey  with  his  salt-pepper- 
vinegar-mustard  suit  of  clothes  such  a  chase  that 
it  is  a  thousand  wonders  I  wasn't  arrested  for 
speeding.  Up  one  street  and  down  another ;  across 
this  avenue,  down  this  lane,  I  went  in  my  saucy 
Blue  Jay,  while  the  other  car  came  after  me.  To 
his  credit  and  that  of  his  car  I  will  say  that  I 
wasn't  far  ahead  of  them  at  any  tune  but  my 
word!  he  was  near  nervous  prostration  before  I 
pulled  up  in  front  of  my  own  house.  It  was  un- 


158  THE  DEATH  CRY 

dignified,  as  was  forcibly  brought  to  my  attention 
later,  and  I  might  have  been  killed  in  that  mad 
race.  But  when  I  parked  the  Blue  Jay  and  de- 
murely climbed  my  own  steps,  the  sight  of  that 
man's  face  was  worth  any  risks  that  I  had  taken. 
Rage,  disgust,  baffled  desire  for  revenge  all  fought 
for  supremacy  in  his  red  countenance ;  and  though 
I  entered  the  library  and  sank  into  a  chair  on  the 
verge  of  exhaustion  with  all  I  had  been  through 
since  I  got  up  that  morning,  I  felt  that  I  had  had 
at  least  one  crumb  of  satisfaction  in  that  trying 
day. 


CHAPTER  XI 

r      • 

THE    MYSTERY    OF    THE    GARAGE 

"Ghos'es  in  de  rideabout  barn."  America's  words 
had  made  little  impression  on  me  at  the  time,  but 
I  was  soon  to  accord  them  deep  respect.  For  sev- 
eral days  my  rotund  cook  and  self  appointed  guar- 
dian had  been  throwing  out  hints  as  dark  as  her 
face.  Finally  on  Monday  afternoon  she  came  in- 
to the  living  room  and  boldly  broached  the  sub- 
ject. 

"Dey's  ghos'es  in  de  rideabout  barn,"  she  an- 
nounced with  portentuous  solemnity. 

"Oh,  America,"  I  said  wearily.  "What  have  you 
go  up  your  sleeve  now?" 

159 


160  THE  DEATH  CRY 

She  rolled  apprehensive  eyes  in  my  direction. 

"De  good  Lawd  keep  me  fum  gettin'  anything 
lak  dat  up  ma  sleeve,"  she  muttered.  "Go  on  and 
laff  at  ole  America  if  you  lak,  Miss  Co'tney,  but 
dey  sho  is  somepin  mighty  mysterious  in  dat  air 
barn." 

"What  is  it  like  this  time?    Bells  again?" 

"No'm,  hit  ain't  no  bells  dis  time.  Hit's  lights! 
Yas'm!  Lights  dat  come  an'  go  an'  noises  dat 
ain't  made  by  no  human  foots." 

"When  did  you  hear  and  see  all  this?"  I  in- 
quired. 

"I  been  seem'  dat  light  for  mos'  a  week,  an* 
las'  night  I  wuz  comin'  in  de  back  way  from  visit- 
in'  Mis'  Newcome's  Sallie,  an'  I  heerd  dat  noise. 
I  tell  you  I  ain't  stoppin'  none  to  see  what  makes 
hit!" 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  GARAGE  161 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  about  it  then  so  I 
could  have  investigated  the  matter?" 

"Well,  you  see,  Miss  Co'tney,  you  done  been 
ober  to  Mis'  Wilding's  and  when  you  come  back 
you  look  so  tired  lak,  I  'low  I  won't  bother  you 
none  twell  de  zoological  moment  arrive,  and  hit 
'pers  to  be  now." 

"Very  well,  America,  I  know  about  it.  Tonight 
I'll  see  if  I  can  lay  your  ghost." 

After  she  had  gone  I  studied  the  matter  with 
some  care.  Allowing  for  America's  exaggerated 
view  of  what  she  had  seen  and  heard  I  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  there  must  be  something 
occurring  in  the  garage  of  which  I  should  know. 

I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  explained  the  situa- 
tion of  the  garage.  When  the  Cuylers  bought  the 
place  next  to  us  they  were  obliged  to  build  a  garage 


162  THE  DEATH  CRY 

for  their  car.  Then  N.  P.  decided  to  get  a  car  and 
he  and  the  doctor  built  the  garage  together.  It 
was  really  one  building,  although  his  half  stood 
on  his  land  and  our  half  on  ours,  and  there  was 
no  communication  between.  A  partition  of  heavy 
boards  separated  them  and  the  sliding  doors 
opened  on  each  yard.  This  plan  had  not  only 
saved  expense  in  building  the  garage  but  it  had 
taken  up  the  minimum  of  space.  Our  side  was 
locked.  That  I  knew  for  I  had  the  key  in  my 
purse;  but  to  make  sure  I  went  down  and  exam- 
ined the  door.  It  was  as  I  thought  locked  by  a 
padlock.  I  couldn't  tell,  of  course,  whether  the 
doctor's  was  secured  or  not,  as  the  hedge  entirely 
separated  the  yards  at  this  point.  I  went  inside 
our  garage  and  looked  around.  The  Blue  Jay  stood 
perkily  awaiting  my  pleasure,  and  N.  P.'s  dust  coat 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  GARAGE  163 

and  cap  hung  on  the  wall.  Worn  out  tires,  heaps 
of  cotton  waste,  oil  cans,  in  short,  all  the  usual 
appurtenances  of  a  small  garage  were  scattered 
about,  but  as  far  as  I  could  see  there  was  nothing 
to  indicate  that  anyone  but  myself  had  entered 
the  place  since  N.  P.  left. 

I  closed  and  locked  the  door  again  and  returned 
to  the  house,  but  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would 
stroll  out  that  way  in  the  evening  and  see  if  I 
could  find  the  cause  of  America's  mysterious  lights 
and  noises. 

I  had  visitors  that  evening  and  it  was  after  ten 
when  they  left.  I  had  completely  forgotten  the 
"ghos'  "  and  it  was  the  sight  of  America  waddling 
around  on  her  nightly  errand  of  locking  doors  and 
windows  that  recalled  it  to  me. 

I  slipped  out  the  side  door  and  walked  toward 


164  THE  DEATH  CRY 

the  rear  of  the  lawn.  Even  as  I  went,  I  saw  a 
thin  ray  of  light  through  the  high  barred  window 
of  the  garage.  It  shone  for  a  minute  and  then 
disappeared.  I  was  seized  with  an  overpowering 
impulse  to  flee  to  the  house  and  I  had  taken  sev- 
eral hurried  steps  in  that  direction  before  I  pulled 
myself  together  and  faced  about  the  other  way.  I 
crept  close  to  the  building  and  listened.  From 
within  there  came  the  faintest  of  noises.  America 
had  not  exaggerated.  There  was  some  one  inside 
who  was  moving  stealthily  about. 

The  light  came  and  went  fitfully.  I  judged  it 
was  made  by  an  intermittent  flashlight.  When  I 
had  satisfied  myself  that  I  was  not  mistaken  I  ran 
back  to  the  house  and  called  the  police  station. 
This  was  an  opportunity  to  investigate  one  mys- 
tery, at  any  rate,  unhindered  by  an  old  lady's  mor- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  GARAGE  165 

bid  fancies.  I  stated  the  case  to  the  person  who 
answered  my  call  and  he  assured  me  they  would 
have  a  cycle  officer  on  the  spot  within  ten  min- 
utes. It  was  barely  that  when  I  heard  the  explo- 
sions of  the  motor  as  he  came  along  at  a  terrific 
rate  of  speed. 

I  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  front  steps,  chaper- 
mmma 

oned  by  America.  I  briefly  explained  the  situa- 
tion and  handed  the  officer  my  key  to  the  place. 
Pistol  in  hand  he  walked  out  to  the  back  yard  and 
up  to  the  door  of  the  garage,  America  and  I  skulk- 
ing along  at  his  heels.  The  "barn"  was  dark  and 
silent.  The  officer  fitted  the  key  into  the  lock  and 
then  cautiously  pulled  open  the  door  a  crack. 

"Come  on  out  of  there,"  he  said  in  burly  tones. 
"I've  got  you  covered,  so  don't  try  any  funny  busi- 
ness. Get  along  out  now!" 


166  THE  DEATH  CRY 

There  was  no  answer,  no  sound  indeed  but 
America's  excited  gasps.  The  officer  opened  the 
door  wider,  a  bit  at  a  tune,  until  he  was  able  to 
step  inside.  His  flashlight  searched  every  corner, 
but  nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  crouching  and  des- 
perate intruder  was  to  be  seen.  I  called  the  offi- 
cer's attention  to  the  switch  at  the  side  of  the  door 
and  in  a  minute  the  place  was  flooded  with  light. 
We  entered  and  made  an  exhaustingly  thorough 
inspection,  even  poking  the  pile  of  waste  in  our 
zeal.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it — no  one  was 
there. 

"How  do  you  suppose  he  got  out?"  I  asked  the 
officer.  He  shook  his  head  patronizingly. 

"There  wasn't  no  one  here  to  get  out,  Miss.  You 
saw  for  yourself  that  the  door  was  locked  and 
there's  only  that  one  window,  too  narrow  for  a 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  GARAGE  167 

man  to  get  through  and  too  high  up,  and  barred 
besides." 

"But  there  was  some  one  here,"  I  insisted  stub- 
bornly. "I  tell  you  I  saw  a  light  and  heard  some- 
body moving  about." 

"Now,  Miss,  he  said  hi  a  soothing  tone,  "let  me 
tell  you  how  it  was.  You're  all  worked  up  and 
nervous  about  that  business  next  door  and  with 
your  husband  gone  and  all,  it's  natural  you  should 
be.  Maybe  you  saw  a  light  from  some  auto  go- 
ing by  in  the  street  and  it  shone  in  here  and  you 
thought  it  came  from  inside.  Now  ain't  that  rea- 
sonable?" 

"But  the  noises?  I  suppose  they  didn't  come 
from  the  street?" 

"They  was  probably  caused  by  a  rat  inside.  You 
see  there  ain't  no  one  here  now  and  they  ain't  been 


168  THE  DEATH  CRY 

no  one,  without  they  got  through  that  locked  door 
and  nothing  but  a  ghost  could  do  that." 

America  emitted  a  squeak  and  pulled  at  my 
sleeve. 

"Come  on  in,  Miss  Co'tney,  chile,  dere  ain't  no 
use  tryin'  to  ketch  a  ghos'.  Let  'em  alone,  or  yo'll 
make  'em  mad.  Come  on  in  de  house0' 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  else  to  do  although 
I  was  far  from  accepting  the  ghost  theory.  How- 
ever, I  thanked  the  officer,  bade  him  goodnight 
and  returned  to  the  house.  After  I  had  gone  to 
bed  I  lay  thinking  about  the  matter  and  I  made 
up  my  mind  that  I  would  do  a  little  searching  the 
next  night  for  myself. 

Accordingly  when  morning  came  I  went  to  the 
cellar  and  dragged  out  a  small  step  ladder  used  by 
our  chauffeur  in  cleaning  the  windows.  I  took  the 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  GARAGE  169 

opportunity  to  do  this  when  America  was  busy 
upstairs  for  I  didn't  want  her  to  know  what  I  in- 
tended doing.  I  leaned  this  ladder  not  far  from 
the  garage  and  waited  for  night  to  come.  I  told 
America  I  would  attend  to  the  locking  up  that 
evening  and  although  she  was  very  reluctant  to 
allow  this,  I  sent  her  to  bed  before  me. 

At  half  past  ten  I  slipped  out  of  the  house  and 
once  more  made  my  silent  way  to  the  garage. 
Ah!  There  was  the  light  again  and  the  faint, 
stealthy  noise!  I  knew  I  had  not  been  mistaken! 
The  triumphant  consciousness  of  this  made  me 
forget  whatever  nervousness  I  may  have  had  at 
first. 

I  picked  up  my  ladder  and  carried  it  softly  to 
the  window  of  the  garage.  Inch  by  inch  I  lowered 
it  against  the  side  of  the  building,  fearful  that  I 


170  THE  DEATH  CRY 

would  alarm  the  intruder  by  some  sudden  noise. 
But  I  had  it  in  place  at  last  and  the  sounds  with- 
in continued.  I  gathered  my  skirts  about  me  and 
began  the  ascent  of  the  ladder.  It  was  somewhat 
shaky  and  I  thought  every  moment  the  thing 
would  topple  over  with  me.  I  got  to  the  top  step 
without  mishap  and  leaned  forward  to  look 
through  the  window.  All  this  time  a  dun  but 
steady  light  had  been  shining  and  the  curious 
scraping  noise  went  on.  The  window  was  a  little 
above  the  level  of  my  eyes  and  I  grasped  one  of  the 
bars  to  pull  myself  up.  At  this  moment — the 
zoological  one,  America  would  have  said — the 
treacherous  ladder  lurched  dizzily,  and  in  striving 
to  regain  my  balance  I  overreached  myself  and 
came  crashing  to  the  ground. 
For  a  few  minutes  I  thought  I  was  killed,  but 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  GARAGE  171 

after  a  cautious  inventory  of  my  bones  I  decided 
that  with  the  exception  of  a  few  bruises  and 
scratches,  physically  I  was  as  good  as  ever.  Not  so 
my  mental  condition,  however!  I  was  mad  clear 
through  as  I  realized  that  all  hope  of  discovering 
our  nocturnal  visitor  was  over,  for  that  night  at 
least.  The  noise  of  my  fall  must  have  frightened 
him  away,  although  I  found  when  I  arose  and  went 
to  look,  that  the  door  was  still  tightly  locked. 

This  time  there  was  no  incredulous  policeman 
or  frightened  cook  to  talk  down  my  belief.  In  the 
brief  instant  that  I  swayed  on  the  top  of  the 
ladder  I  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  some  dark  object 
within,  which,  partly  concealed  though  it  was  by 
the  hood  of  the  Blue  Jay,  I  felt  convinced  was  the 
form  of  a  man.  He  was  croushed  on  the  floor  in 
a  listening  attitude,  and  the  faint  light  in  the 


172  THE  DEATH  CRY 

place  came  from  the  floor.  Of  these  two  facts  I 
was  sure,  and  nothing  could  shake  my  conviction. 

There  was  nothing  further  I  could  do  about  it 
tonight.  I  reconnoitered  cautiously  around  the 
garage,  looking  for  a  possible  clew  to  his  entrance. 
Only  darkness  and  silence  rewarded  me.  Long 
after  I  had  gone  back  into  the  house  I  puzzled 
over  the  mystery.  What  was  that  man  doing  in 
our  garage?  Why  did  he  return  there  night  after 
night?  Above  all,  how  did  he  get  into  a  perfectly 
closed  building? 

I  debated  with  myself  what  was  the  thing  to 
do  next.  Should  I  explain  matters  to  the  chief  of 
police  and  ask  for  a  cordon  of  officers  to  surround 
the  house  after  ten  o'clock?  If  they  were  all  as 
dense  as  the  one  I  had  had  here  the  previous 
evening  they  wouldn't  be  of  much  use,  I  thought 
ruefully, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  GARAGE  173 

Oh,  if  N.  P.  were  only  here!  N.  P.  wouldn't 
laugh  at  me  and  deride  my  burglar  as  a  ghost.  N. 
P.  knew  that  I  wasn't  an  hysterical  coward  given 
to  conjuring  terrors  after  nightfall.  N.  P.  would 
believe  me  when  I  said  there  was  a  man  in  the 
garage,  and  N.  P.  would  find  a  way  to  discover 
that  man,  or  something  would  have  to  give! 

I  fell  asleep  still  undecided  what  course  of  action 
to  pursue,  puzzled  over  it  all  the  next  day,  and 
when  evening  came  again  and  brought  no  further 
disturbance  to  the  garage,  no  lights,  no  noises, 
I  concluded  and  told  America  that  I  had  laid  the 
"ghost."  Of  course,  my  noisy  fall  had  frightened 
the  intruder  away.  I  hardly  knew  whether  to 
be  glad  or  sorry.  At  any  rate,  it  relieved  me  of 
the  necessity  for  immediate  action;  in  the  mean- 
time I  entertained  the  forlorn  hope  that  N.  P. 
might  still  come  home  to  my  rescue. 


CHAPTER  XII 

"MARIECHEN'S  HORSIE" 

One  excitement  tumbled  on  the  heels  of  another 
in  those  days!  It  was  the  next  morning  that  I  re- 
ceived notification  that  Dr.  Cuyler's  trial  was  set 
for  the  following  Monday,  July  first,  and  that  my 
husband  and  I  were  subpoenaed  as  witnesses  for 
the  defense.  That  was  all  very  well  for  N.  P.  miles 
and  miles  away  and  knowing  precious  little  if  he 
did  testify,  but  alas!  poor  me!  I  had  been  in 
the  thick  of  it  from  the  very  beginning,  and  was 
primed  with  all  sorts  of  damaging  evidence  which 
I  greatly  preferred  to  share  with  no  one.  If  only 
I  were  in  California  or  Kamschatka  or  Zululand 

174 


MARIECHEN'S  HORSIE  175 

—any  place  where  I  could  escape  from  the  whole 
miserable  mess. 

No  such  luck  for  me,  however.  With  a  per- 
fectly fatal  tendency  I  had  managed  to  be  on  the 
spot  every  time  a  new  development  arose  in  the 
now  celebrated  Cuyler  case.  It  was  foolish  even  to 
hope  that  I  could  escape  at  this  late  hour.  I  re- 
signed myself  to  the  inevitable  and  began  to  plan 
how  little  I  could  tell. 

Mrs.  Wilding  received  the  news  of  the  trial  more 
composedly  than  I  had  supposed  she  would.  She 
believed  implicitly  in  Dr.  Cuyler's  innocence.  It 
was  touching  to  see  how  absolutely  she  trusted 
him.  The  shock  of  his  arrest  and  the  shame  of 
his  confinement  to  jail  had  been  a  tragic  thing 
for  her,  but  the  trial  itself  she  regarded  as  a  sure 

5T**f  «    *" 

means  of  his  vindication.    The  sooner,  then,  that 


176  THE  DEATH  CRY 

it  began,  the  better,  according  to  her  point  of  view, 
and  I  was  thankful  that  she  felt  so. 

I  have  often  wondered  if  she  knew  the  loath- 
some rumors  that  were  flying  about  the  town  con- 
cerning her  son-in-law  and  me.  If  she  did,  she 
kept  the  knowledge  to  herself  with  fine  delicacy. 
She  seldom  read  the  newspapers,  and  she  shrank 
from  any  discussion  of  family  affairs  with  an  out- 
sider, so  it  is  possible  she  never  knew.  At  any 
rate,  she  trusted  me  through  that  wretched  time — 
something  that  I  still  remember  with  gratitude. 

"You  spoil  me  dreadfully,  Courtney,  dear,"  she 
said  to  me  one  day.  "I'm  getting  to  rely  on  you 
for  everything.  But  indeed  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  do  without  you." 

The  remark  was  occasioned  by  my  timely  inter- 
vention during  a  childish  tantrum  of  Mariechen's. 


MARIECHEN'S  HORSIE  177 

I  had  heard  her  screaming  from  my  yard,  and 
knowing  how  it  distressed  her  grandmother,  I 
ran  across  the  lawn  in  my  composite  role  of  peace- 
maker, champion  and  protector.  It  is  wonderful 
to  think  what  trivial  circumstances  lead  to  great 
discoveries.  I  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  when  I 
went  over  that  I  was  going  for  anything  but  the 
purpose  of  quieting  Eloise's  baby,  but  as  things 
turned  out,  it  was  enough  to  make  me  embrace 
the  doctrine  of  predestination. 

Mariechen  is  a  perfect  lamb  most  of  the  time, 
but  once  in  awhile  she  has  a  naughty  fit,  as  all 
children  will.  On  this  occasion  she  was  crying 
her  heart  out  over  a  lost  plaything  which  none 
of  the  household  could  produce. 

"Hush,  hush,  dear  litle  girl,"  Mrs.  Wilding  was 
vainly  pleading  with  her  as  I  entered  the  room. 


178  THE  DEATH  CRY 

Her  hands  trembled  as  she  turned  to  me,  and  her 
delicate  face  was  almost  as  red  as  the  child's. 

"0  my  dear,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  greeted 
me.  "Here's  Mariechen  making  herself  perfectly 
sick  over  something  she  wants,  and  I  don't  know 
where  to  find  it  for  her." 

"Why,  darling,"  I  exclaimed,  "whatever  is  the 
matter?  Come  here,  you  blessed  baby,  and  tell 
Auntie  Court  the  trouble." 

"I — I  want  my  horsie,"  Mariechen  wailed  at  me. 
"My  dear  pretty  horsie  what  my  Muwer  let  me 
p'ay  wiv." 

"Your  horsie,  precious?   Tell  me  where  it  is." 

"I  don't  know  where  it  is.  I  frowed  it  away 
'cause  it  hurted  me  so  bad."  More  tears  and  sobs. 
"It  was  a  bad  horsie,  and  it  bluggied  up  my  nose, 
so  I  didnt'  like  it  for  awhile.  But  now  I  want  it, 
I  do,  I  do!" 


MARIECHEN'S  HORSIE  179 

I  gathered  the  weeping  baby  into  my  arms 
and  looked  inquiringly  over  her  head,  first  at  the 
grandmother,  then  at  the  nurse-maid. 

"Can't  you  find  her  rocking  horse,  Melba?" 

"Don't  want  my  wocking  horsie;  don't  want 
my  gee  gee ;  don't  want  my  aut'mobile ! "  She  cast 
a  scornful  glance  at  the  toys  on  the  floor.  "I  want 
my  yiding  horsie  wiv  the  shiny  head  what  used 
to  live  in  Daddy's  closet.  Muwer  gived  it  to  me 
to  yide  on  one  day,  but  Melba  won't  give  it  to  me 
now.  She's  naughty,  naughty  Melba." 

"Oh,  she  must  mean  a  stick,"  I  cried,  light 
breaking  over  me.  "One  of  the  doctor's  walking 
sticks.  Haven't  you  seen  it,  Melba?" 

Before  she  could  answer  Mariechen  slipped 
from  my  lap. 

"I'll  show  you  where  I  frowed  it,  Auntie  Court," 


180  THE  DEATH  CRY 

She  tugged  at  my  hand.   "It  hit  me  in  the  face  and 
bluggied  up  my  nose,  so  I  frowed  it  away." 

She  ran  to  the  window  and  pointed  with  insist- 
ent finger.  Suddenly  an  intuition  seized  me,  so 
strange,  so  wonderful  I  hardly  dared  entertain  it. 
Breathless  with  the  thought,  I  hurried  Mariechen 
into  the  yard  as  fast  as  her  fat  legs  could  carry 

her. 

"Was  it  here  you  threw  it,  dear?" 

"No,  no!"  She  stamped  with  an  impatient  foot. 
"Not  here.  I  frowed  it  'way  over  there." 

It  was  as  I  had  suspected.  She  pointed  to  the 
weeds  in  the  vacant  lot  where  Dr.  Cuyler  had 
thrown  the  dead  snake  and  where  the  supposed 
death  instrument  had  been  found. 

I  could  hardly  control  myself  as  I  stumbled  on 
the  great  discovery,  but  I  managed  to  speak  calmly 
to  the  child.  '  '"I"  ~ 


MARIECHEN'S  HORSIE  181 

"Well,  Auntie  Court  will  get  your  horsie  pre- 
sently," I  assured  her,  "but  first  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  exactly  how  he  looked.  Did  he  have  a  long 
black  body  and  a  silver  head?" 

"Yes,  yes!"  She  bobbed  her  curls  ecstatically. 
"A  booful  shiny  head." 

Her  tears  were  dried  in  anticipation  but  it  was 
some  time  before  I  was  able  to  restore  her  treas- 
ure to  her.  I  hurried  in  to  the  telephone  and 
called  up  the  office  of  the  Prosecuting  Attorney. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Temple,  Mr.  Lippman.  Can  you 
come  out  to  Dr.  Cuyler's  house  at  once?  I  have 
some  information  for  you." 

My  tone  evidently  aroused  his  curiosity  for  it 
was  not  fifteen  minutes  before  his  machine  buzzed 
up  to  the  door  and  he  got  out,  accompanied  by  the 
ubiquitous  Mr.  Bailey. 


182  THE  DEATH  CRY 

I  made  Mariechen  go  over  her  story  again,  ex- 
plaining and  interpreting  those  terms  which  were 
not  understood  by  the  men.  I  blessed  Eloise  for 
the  careful  training  she  had  given  her  little  daugh- 
ter. She  was  not  a  bit  shy  or  tongue  tied  as  so 
many  children  are  in  the  presence  of  strangers.  I 
could  see  that  Mr.  Lippman  was  impressed. 

"That  would  account  for  the  blood,  you  see,"  I 
stammered  in  my  excitement.  "You  believe  the 
child?  You  think  her  story  is  perfectly  plausi- 
ble?" 

"It  seems  so,"  he  admitted  with  some  caution. 
"But  I'd  like  to  try  a  simple  test,  if  you  don't 
object.  I'll  have  to  take  the  little  girl  to  my  office 
and  I'd  like  you  or  her  grandmother  or  both  to  go 
along." 

He  looked  at  Mrs.  Wilding  and  she  in  turn 


MARIECHEN'S  HORSIE  183 

looked  at  me.  In  the  end  of  course  we  both  went, 
she  to  chaperon  Mariechen  and  I  to  chaperon  her. 
I  ran  over  home  to  get  my  hat  and  we  started 
down  town  at  once. 

The  Prosecuting  Attorney  had  two  offices  and 
it  was  in  the  outer  one  that  he  bade  us  be  seated 
while  he  arranged  matters  to  his  liking  within. 
Presently  he  called  to  us  and  we  went  through  the 
door  which  closed  behind  us.  A  long  table  occu- 
pied the  center  of  the  room.  A  desk,  chairs  and 
a  bookcase  were  the  only  other  articles  of  furni- 
ture. On  the  table  and  on  the  top  of  the  closed 
desk  were  scattered  several  objects — umbrellas, 
books,  a  yard  stick  and  other  things. 

"Now,  little  lady,"  the  attorney  said  hi  what 
he  meant  for  a  jocular  tone,  "you  just  look  around 
the  place  and  see  if  you  can  find  your  horse." 


184  THE  DEATH  CRY 

We  watched  in  breathless  silence  while  the  big 
brown  eyes  travelled  around  the  room.  Over  the 
table,  the  desk  and  the  bookcase  they  searched, 
lingered  earnestly  on  the  walls,  studied  the  chairs. 
Then  with  a  gleeful  shout  the  baby  ran  to  a  corner 
of  the  room  and  snatched  up  something  which  she 
hugged  to  her  breast. 

"Here's  my  horsie !  Mariechen's  found  her  boo- 
ful  horsie!" 

I  turned  to  Mr.  Lippman  with,  I  fear,  an  air 
of  hardly  concealed  triumph.  He  was  watching 
the  child  meditatively,  his  gaze  bent  on  the  smart 
walking  stick  which  he  had  so  fondly  believed  to 
be  the  instrument  of  Dr.  Cuyler's  crime. 

"This  will  make  everything  all  right  for  Dr. 
Cuyler,  won't  it?"  I  questioned  excitedly.  "How 
soon  will  they  dismiss  the  case  against  him?" 


MARIECHEN'S  HORSIE  185 

The  Prosecuting  Attorney  gave  me  a  pitying 
glance. 

"You  didn't  really  think  this  would  prove  his 
innocence,  did  you,  Mrs.  Temple?  You're  too 
smart  a  woman  for  that.  It  simply  shows  that 
one  link  in  our  chain  of  evidence  is  a  false  one; 
but  we  have  many  others,  Mrs.  Temple,  many 
others!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    TRIAL 

So  it  happened  that  Dr.  Cuyler  came  to  trial 
on  the  following  Monday.  Mr.  Brewer,  the  law- 
yer for  the  defense,  thought  it  best  that  Mrs.  Wil- 
ding should  sit  beside  her  son-in-law  within  the 
enclosure,  deeming  the  effect  of  her  presence  on 
the  jury  a  favorable  one.  The  dear  little  lady 
begged  me  so  piteously  to  sit  there  with  her  that 
I  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse,  especially  as  Mr. 
Brewer  added  his  request  to  hers,  but  I  realized 
perfectly  how  the  tongues  of  gossip  would  wag  to 
see  me  publicly  allied  on  the  side  of  Dr.  Cuyler. 

I  will  pass  over  the  first  few  days  of  the  case, 

186 


THE  TRIAL  187 

filled  as  they  were  with  the  tiresome  swearing  in 
of  the  jury.  But  the  speech  of  the  Prosecuting 
Attorney  I  will  give  in  part,  for  it  astonished  ev- 
erybody, me  most  of  all. 

"The  state  will  show,"  he  said,  standing  upright 
before  the  "twelve  good  men  and  true",  "that  for 
some  time  there  had  been  unhappiness  between 
the  defendant  and  his  wife.  His  profession  carried 
him  largely  among  women.  He  was — and  is  a 
personable  man  and  perhaps  traded  on  his  popu- 
larity with  the  other  sex  to  increase  his  practice. 
His  wife  objected;  objected  to  his  being  so  much 
with  other  women  and  especially  to  his  friendship 
for  the  wife  of  one  of  their  near  neighbors.  The 
state  will  show  that  upon  the  evening  preceding 
the  murder  Dr.  Cuyler  sat  for  some  time  in  close 
conversation  with  this  woman,  whose  name  I  will 


188  THE  DEATH  CRY 

not  now  mention,  while  the  neglected  wife  was 
brooding  alone  in  the  house.  The  evidence  will 
show  that  upon  his  entrance  into  the  house  she 
reproached  him  for  his  conduct.  That  he  retorted 
with  much  bitterness.  That  she  threatened  to 
sue  for  divorce.  That  he,  knowing  that  such  an 
action  would  have  a  serious  effect  upon  his  pro- 
fessional life,  and  in  a  fit  of  violent  rage,  struck  her 
repeatedly  upon  the  head  with  some  instrument 
unknown  to  the  court.  That  the  scream  which  was 
heard  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Temple,  their  next-door 
neighbors,  was  caused  by  her  terror  as  she  saw 
him  approaching  her  with  intent  to  kill,  and  not 
by  any  snake,  as  the  defendant  has  claimed.  That 
the  doctor  then  waited  for  a  time,  probably  for  an 
hour,  when  he  got  out  his  car  and  drove  about 
for  the  purpose  of  later  establishing  an  alibi.  To 


THE  TRIAL  189 

further  this  end  he  stopped  in  a  drug  store  and 
ordered  some  medicines  to  be  delivered  at  his  of- 
fice the  next  day.  He  spoke  to  two  men  who  were 
in  the  drug  store,  laughingly  remarking  that  a 
doctor's  life  was  a  hard  one,  thus  calling  to  their 
attention  the  facts  of  his  appearance  and  profes- 
sion, that  they  might  afterwards  testify  to  his  be- 
ing there  at  that  hour.  The  evidence  will  show 
that  Mrs.  Cuyler  was  not  dead  when  he  left  her, 
but  that  he,  with  the  knowledge  of  anatomy  he 
possessed,  was  convinced  that  she  would  die  within 
an  hour  or  so,  and  knowing  that  he  left  her,  thus 
making  it  appear  to  whatever  medical  aid  was 
summoned  when  he  arrived  that  she  had  been 
struck  during  his  absence.  But  the  evidence  will 
show  that  she  lived  until  he  returned ;  was  prob- 
ably drawing  her  last  breath  as  he  came  up  the 


190  THE  DEATH  CRY 

stairs.  That  he  waited  until  he  was  certain  she 
was  dead  before  summoning  assistance.  The  state 
will  prove  that  after  making  the  call  upon  his  pa- 
tient he  became  afraid  that  he  had  betrayed  him- 
self to  that  patient  or  his  wife  in  some  way — per- 
haps there  were  blood  stains  somewhere  about 
him;  or  perhaps  he  was  in  an  uncontrollable  state 
of  agitation.  At  any  rate  the  patient — one  Peter 
Rossbaum — disappeared  from  the  city  and  no 
amount  of  search  has  ascertained  his  whereabouts. 
It  is  known  that  the  doctor  drew  out  a  sum  of 
money  the  afternoon  previous  to  the  murder  and 
that  he  has  not  satisfactorily  accounted  for  its  ex- 
penditure ;  the  fact  being  without  doubt  that  this 
money  was  paid  to  Peter  Rossbaum  and  his  wife 
on  consideration  that  they  disappear  from  the  city 
and  remain  away  until  after  the  murder  had 


THE  TRIAL  191 

ceased  to  be  a  matter  of  public  interest.  All  these 
facts,  gentlemen,  the  state  will  prove  and  the  evi- 
dence will  show." 

When  he  sat  down  I  stole  a  glance  at  Eloise' 
husband.  He  was  sitting  with  folded  arms,  a 
quiet,  almost  a  pensive  look  upon  his  face;  from 
his  expression  one  might  have  imagined  he  had 
not  heard  a  word  of  the  Prosecuting  Attorney's 
speech.  Mrs.  Wilding  on  the  contrary  was  tremb- 
ling with  indignation  and  I  put  my  hand  on  her 
arm  soothingly. 

The  minor  witnesses  were  called  first.  Two 
neighbors  living  in  the  next  block  testified  that 
they  had  heard  nothing  on  the  night  of  the  mur- 
der until  the  police  ambulance  arrived;  that  they 
had  never  known  of  there  being  snakes  in  the  va- 
cant lot  next  to  the  Cuylers'  house.  Nothing  of 


192  THE  DEATH  CRY 

importance  was  brought  out  by  their  testimony 
one  way  or  the  other  and  they  were  not  cross  ex- 
amined. 

But  when  the  fourth  witness  took  the  stand  the 
court  room  got  a  surprise.  This  was  the  manager 
of  the  local  telephone  exchange  and  he  testified 
that  it  was  the  custom  of  the  company  after  elev- 
en o'clock  at  night,  to  keep  a  record  of  any  call 
for  a  private  house.  This  was  done,  he  explained, 
to  save  people  the  annoyance  of  being  roused  from 
their  beds  by  a  possible  mistake. 

"The  number  called  for  is  written  down  and 
the  name  of  the  person  having  that  number  is 
found.  Then  the  party  calling  is  asked  if  he  wish- 
es to  speak  to  that  person  rather  than  to  that  num- 
ber. If  he  does,  the  call  is  given ;  if  he  has  mis- 
taken the  number  he  wishes,  the  mistake  is  point- 


THE  TRIAL  193 

ed  out  to  him.  In  that  way  we  know  what  calls 
are  made  upon  private  houses  after  eleven 
o'clock." 

Pros.  At.  "And  does  that  record  show  that  a 
call  was  sent  in  for  the  Cuyler  home  before  one 
o'clock  on  the  night  of  June  third?" 

"There  is  no  such  call  noted  on  my  records." 

This  reply  created  a  sensation.  It  was  in  re- 
sponse to  a  telephone  summons,  the  doctor  had 
said,  that  he  had  gone  to  see  this  Peter  Rossbaum. 
My  heart  sank  as  I  saw  this  black  mark  being 
placed  upon  the  doctor's  story  and  I  looked  eager- 
ly at  Mr.  Brewer  when  he  began  a  cross  examina- 
tion of  this  witness. 

I  believe  I  have  said  very  little  about  Dr.  Cuy- 
ler's  attorney.  I  was  greatly  disappointed  when 
I  first  saw  him.  He  was  a  huge  man,  his  chin 


194  THE  DEATH  CRY 

hanging  in  pendulous  folds  upon  his  chest.  He 
sat  with  his  finger  tips  barely  meeting  across  his 
vast  front,  his  head  down  and  his  eyes  peering 
over  his  spectacles.  After  a  bit  I  observed  that 
this  quiet,  intent  gaze  seemed  to  disconcert  some 
of  the  witnesses  and  that  they  floundered  in  their 
testimony.  He  began  with  the  telephone  manager 
in  a  manner  misleadingy  bland. 

Q.  "Now,  Mr.  White,  you  say  that  such  a 
record  is  kept  in  the  telephone  office — such  a 
record  as  you  describe?" 

A.    "I  do.  It  is." 

Q.  "Where  is  it  kept?  I  mean  in  what  part 
of  the  building?" 

A.     "In  my  own  office." 

Q.  "And  in  consulting  that  record  at  the  in- 
stance of  the  Prosecuting  Attorney  you  found  no 


THE  TRIAL  195 

record  of  a  call  having  been  sent  into  Dr.  Cuyler's 
home  after  eleven  and  before  one  o'clock  on  the 
night  in  question?" 

A.     "I  found  no  such  record." 

Q.  "Now,  Mr.  White,  you  say  this  rule  applies 
to  private  houses  only.  Not  to  hotels,  or  restaur- 
ants, or  the  police  station?" 

A.    "No,  it  does  not  apply  to  them." 

Q.    "But  it  does  apply  to  private  houses?" 

A.    "Yes,  sir." 

Q.    "To  all  private  houses?" 

A.    "Well,  not  to  all,  no,  sir." 

Q.  "Ah,  not  to  all,  eh?  Well,  to  whose  houses 
does  it  not  apply?" 

A.  "To  the  houses  of  nurses  and  the  chief  of 
police  and  — " 

Q.    "Goon.    And—" 


196  THE  DEATH  CRY 

A.    "To  the  homes  of  physicians." 

Q.  "Just  so.;  to  the  homes  of  physicians.  And 
Dr.  Cuyler  is  a  physician?" 

A.    "I  believe  he  is." 

•  Q.  "You  know  he  is.  Therefore  there  would 
have  been  no  record  made — your  report  would  not 
show  if  there  had  been  a  dozen  calls  at  Dr.  Cuy- 
ler's  home  that  night?" 

A.    "I  suppose  not." 

Q.  "Very  good,  Mr.  White.  Now,  just  one 
more  question.  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  you  were 
dropped  from  the  Country  Club  of  which  Dr.  Cuy- 
ler was  at  that  time  president  because  of  a  little — 
ah,  indiscreetness,  shall  we  say?  in  a  game  of 
cards?" 

A.    "I  was  dropped  from  that  club,  yes,  sir." 

Q.    "Well,  well,  we  all  have  our  little  longing 


THE  TRIAL 

for  retaliation,"  the  attorney  for  the  defense  re- 
marked benevolently  and  dismissed  the  discom- 
fited witness  with  a  wave  of  his  pudgy  hand.  There 
was  a  general  smile  through  the  room.  The  Prose- 
cuting Attorney  did  not  smile,  however.  He  had 
hoped  a  good  deal  from  this  promising  bubble  and 
it  had  been  punctured  with  ease  by  this  irritating 
lawyer. 

The  next  witness  was  a  woman  I  had  never  seen 
before — a  Mrs.  Miller  who  gave  her  address  in 
the  extreme  opposite  part  of  town.  She  testified 
that  she  had  sat  behind  the  Cuylers  in  the  theatre 
at  a  certain  date,  and  had  heard  Mrs.  Cuyler  re- 
proach her  husband  for  his  attentions  to  other  wo- 
men. She  declared  that  the  doctor  was  very 
angry;  had  looked  "as  though  he  could  kill  his 
wife."  Personally  I  don't  believe  the  woman  ever 


198  THE  DEATH  CRY 

saw  Eloise  in  her  life  but  she  made  a  strong  wit- 
ness for  the  state  as  she  clung  to  her  story  through 
the  fire  of  cross  examination. 

A  Dr.  Hillboro  was  called  next.  He  stated  that 
he  had  seen  the  defendant  the  night  of  the  mur- 
der, somewhere  about  twelve  o'clock,  "driving  like 
mad,  three  miles  north  of  the  city,  his  face  pale 
and  set  and  his  manner  intent."  Questioned  as  to 
his  own  reason  for  being  at  that  place  at  such  an 
hour  he  said  that  he  had  been  to  see  a  patient  and 
was  returning  home.  The  patient  was  next  called 
and  confirmed  Dr.  Hillboro's  story  of  having  been 
at  place  named  at  the  hour  and  date  stated  by 
him.  As  the  road  mentioned  was  far  away  from 
the  residence  of  Peter  Rossbaum,  I  could  see  that 
this  fact  made  an  unfavorable  impression  on  the 
jury. 


THE  TRIAL  199 

I  had  been  summoned  of  course  as  a  witness  for 
the  defense,  so  it  was  with  the  greatest  surprise 
mingled  with  some  fear,  that  I  heard  my  own 
name  called  at  this  juncture.  I  walked  the  short 
distance  to  the  witness  stand  as  firmly  as  I  could 
and  after  being  sworn  I  took  my  seat.  I  faced 
the  room  and  up  to  this  time  I  had  not  realized 
how  crowded  it  was.  The  aisles  were  jammed  and 
there  were  people  leaning  all  around  the  sides  of 
the  room.  For  a  few  moments  it  seemed  to  me 
that  all  those  eyes  were  charging  me  with  the  mur- 
der, but  I  soon  became  so  occupied  with  the  storm 
of  questions  hurled  upon  me  by  the  Prosecuting 
Attorney  tljat  I  no  longer  saw  them.  I  give  the 
report  of  my  examination  as  it  stood  in  the  pa- 
pers: 

Q.    "State  your  name." 


200  THE  DEATH  CRY 

A.    "Courtney  Temple;  Mrs.  N.  P.  Temple." 

Q.    "Where  do  you  live,  Mrs.  Temple?" 

A.    "At  452  Ashland  Boulevard." 

Q.  "And  you  were  living  there  at  the  time  of 
the  murder,  June  fourth?" 

A.    "I  was." 

Q.    "That  is  next  door  to  the  Cuylers'  home?" 

A.    "It  is." 

Q.    "You  know  this  defendant?" 

A.    "I  do." 

Q.    "How  long  have  you  known  him?" 

A.  "I  have  known  him  for  perhaps  eight  or 
nine  years." 

Q.    "That  is,  before  his  marriage?" 

A.    "Yes." 

Q.  "And  before  he  began  to  practice  in  this 
city?" 


THE  TRIAL  201 

A.    "No." 

Q.    "How  long  had  you  known  Mrs.  Cuyler?" 

A.  "I  think  it  is  six  years;  since  she  came  here 
a  bride." 

Q.  "You  were  on  friendly  terms  with  Mrs. 
Cuyler?" 

A.    "Very  friendly  terms." 

Q.    "And  with  Dr.  Cuyler?" 

A.    "Yes." 

Q.  "You  have  been  associated  with  him  in 
philanthropic  work?" 

A.    "I  have;  yes." 

Q.  "Was  Mrs.  Cuyer  interested  hi  this  work 
also?" 

A.    "In  some  of  it,  yes." 

Q.    "But  not  in  all  of  it?" 

A.    "No.    You  see,  hi  some — " 


202  THE  DEATH  CRY 

Q.  "Just  answer  the  question  I  asked,  please, 
Mrs.  Temple." 

A.    "Not  in  all  of  it." 

Q.  "Now,  Mrs.  Temple,  will  you  please  tell  the 
jury  whether  your  friendship  with  Dr.  Cuyler  was 
greater  than  with  Mrs.  Cuyler?" 

Mr.  Brewer:  "I  object  to  that  question,  your 
honor.  He  has  no  right  to  ask  it." 

The  Court:  "Objection  overruled.  Witness  may 
answer  the  question." 

A.  "There  was  no  difference  in  the  degree  of 
my  friendship  with  the  Cuylers.  I  was  friendly 
with  both." 

Q.  "But  being  associated  with  Dr.  Cuyler  in 
this  work — closely  associated  as  you  were,  you 
would  naturally  become  more  friendly  with  him 
than  with  his  wife,  would  you  not?" 


THE  TRIAL  203 

A.    "No." 

Q.    "No?    Why  wouldn't  you?" 

A.  "Because  I  was  much  more  closely  asso- 
ciated with  Mrs.  Cuyler.  I  sometimes  did  not 
see  the  doctor  for  several  days  at  a  time,  but  I 
rarely  passed  a  day  without  paying  Mrs.  Cuyler 
a  visit  or  receiving  one  from  her." 

Q.  "And  you  think  that  Mrs.  Cuyler  returned 
your  friendship?" 

A.    "I  am  confident  of  it." 

Q.  "Now,  Mrs.  Temple,  on  the  night  that 
Mrs.  Cuyler  was  murdered,  I  believe  that  you 
were  the  first  person  to  enter  her  room  after  the 
murder,  were  you  not?" 

A.  "With  the  exception  of  Dr.  Cuyler,  yes. 
My  husband  was  just  behind  me." 

Q.  "Will  you  tell  the  jury,  Mrs.  Temple,  in 
what  condition  you  found  the  defendant?" 


204  THE  DEATH  CRY 

A.    "He  seemed  dazed." 

Q.  "Did  you  regard  his  behavior  as  usual  under 
the  circumstances?" 

A.    "I  cannot  answer  that  question." 

Q.    "Cannot?    Why?" 

A.  "Because  I  do  not  know  what  is  the  usual 
behavior  under  such  circumstances.  I  have  never 
before  seen  a  man  in  the  presence  of  his  murdered 
wife." 

Q.  "Ah — yes.  All  right,  Mrs.  Temple.  Now 
please  state  to  the  jury  what  were  Dr.  Cuyler's 
words  on  that  occasion?" 

A.  "He  did  not  say  anything  that  I  know 
of  until  my  husband  suggested  moving  Mrs.  Cuy- 
ler,  and  the  doctor  said,  as  nearly  as  I  can  re- 
member, 'Don't  touch  her.  She  is  dead.' ' 

Q.    "And  is  that  all  he  said?" 


THE  TRIAL  205 

A.    "No ;  I  think  he  added,  'I  was  sure  of  that 
before  I  called  you.' ' 
Q.    "Was  sure,  or  made  sure?" 
A.    "I  don't  know  which  word  he  used." 
Q.    "If  you  searched  your  memory  very  care- 
fully, don't  you  think  you  could  tell?" 

A.    "To  the  best  of  my  recollection,  he  said 
was  sure." 

Q.    "And  it  didn't  strike  you  as  being  strange 
that  he  used  such  an  expression  at  the  time?" 
A.    "Certainly  not.    He  is  a  physician." 
Q.    "Now,  Mrs.  Temple,  did  you  or  did  you 
not  take  Dr.  Cuyler  for  a  drive  hi  your  own  motor 
car  on  the  afternoon  preceding  his  arrest?" 
A.    "I  did." 

Q.    "What  was  your  purpose  in  doing  so?" 
A.    "I  wished  to  consult  him  on  various  matters 


206  THE  DEATH  CRY 

concerning  his  family  life,  and  I  did  not  want 
to  go  to  his  office  or  ask  him  to  my  home." 

Q.  "I  see.  Well,  Mrs.  Temple,  will  you  tell 
us  what  you  talked  about  during  that  drive?" 

A.  "Various  matters.  I  cannot  recall  them 
all." 

Q.  "But  you  can  recall  some  of  them,  can  you 
not?" 

A.  "Yes.  We  discussed  the  advisability  of 
sending  the  doctor's  little  girl  away  to  the  sea- 
shore for  a  time,  but  decided  it  would  be  better 
for  her  to  remain  where  she  was  if  her  grand- 
mother, Mrs.  Wilding,  would  stay  with  her." 

Q.    "And  what  else?" 

A.  "We  talked  about  my  husband's  journey 
and  Dr.  Cuyler  spoke  of  his  not  having  looked 
well  lately." 


THE  TRIAL  207 

Q.    "And  what  else?" 

A.  "I  believe  Dr.  Cuyler  asked  me  to  care  for 
his  wife's  garden  and  to  send  the  flowers  to  the 
hospital,  as  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing." 

Q.  "Was  that  the  extent  of  your  conversa- 
tion?" 

A.  "No,  we  talked  a  bit  longer,  but  I  cannot  re- 
member just  what  was  said." 

Q.  "Let  me  see  if  I  cannot  refresh  your  mem- 
ory. Was  there  not  mention  made  of  some  letters 
— anonymous  letters  received  by  you?" 

A.    "I  believe  there  was." 

Q.  "Ah,  strange  you  didn't  remember  that  be- 
fore, wasn't  it?  Now,  about  those  letters,  Mrs. 
Temple.  Where  did  you  obtain  them?" 

A.  "The  first  one  was  given  to  me  by  Mrs. 
Wilding,  who  said  a  man  had  handed  it  in  at 


208  THE  DEATH  CRY 

the  door.  The  second  I  took  from  Dr.  Cuyler's 
small  daughter,  to  whom  it  had  been  given  by  a 
strange  man." 

Q.  "You  will  tell  the  jury,  Mrs.  Temple,  the 
purport  of  those  letters?" 

A.    "They  contained  ridiculous  hints  of  another 


woman." 


Q.  "Please  leave  out  the  adjective.  It  grows 
out  of  your  own  opinion,  not  the  facts.  Now 
what  did  you  do  with  those  letters?" 

A.    "I  gave  them  to  Dr.  Cuyler." 

Q.  "You  gave  them — do  I  understand  you, 
Mrs.  Temple,  that  you  gave  them  to  the  defend- 
ant in  this  case,  and  not  to  the  proper  authori- 
ties?" 

A.  "Dr.  Cuyler  was  not  then  the  defendant  in 
the  case,  and  I  considered  him  the  proper  person 
to  have  them." 


THE  TRIAL  209 

Q.  "What  did  he  say  when  you  told  him  of 
the — or  gave  them  to  him?" 

A.  "He  expressed  his  regret  that  I  should  have 
been  annoyed,  but  said  he  didn't  attach  very  much 
importance  to  them." 

Q.    "What  did  he  do  with  these  letters?" 

A.    "He  put  them  in  his  pocket,  I  think." 

Q.  (Producing  letters)  "Are  these  the  let- 
ters?" 

A.    "Yes,  I  am  sure  they  are." 

Q.  "Very  good.  Now,  Mrs.  Temple,  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  about  the  visit  you  paid  to  the 
cemetery — June  twenty-first,  wasn't  it?" 

A.    "I  went  there  on  that  date." 

Q.    "Not  since  then?" 

A.    "No." 

Q.  "For  what  purpose  did  you  go  at  that 
time?" 


210  THE  DEATH  CRY 

A.  "I  went  at  the  request  of  Mrs.  Wilding  to 
see  if  Mrs.  Cuyler's  grave  had  been  sodded  as 
Dr.  Cuyler  had  ordered." 

Q.    "And  had  it?" 

A.  "Not  when  I  arrived.  The  men  were  just 
beginning  the  work." 

Q.    "You  stood  and  watched  them  for  a  tune?" 

A.    "I  did." 

Q.  "And  one  of  the  men  took  some  object  from 
the  earth  on  the  grave  and  gave  it  to  ysff?" 

A.    "He  did." 

Q.    "What  was  that  object?" 

A.    "It  was  a  photograph  wrapped  in  oilcloth." 

Q.  "And  what  did  you  do  with  the  photo- 
graph?" 

A.    "I  took  it  home  with  me." 

Q.  "Did  you  refuse  to  surrender  it  to  Mr. 
Bailey,  a  detective?" 

A.    "I  did.    He  had  no  authority." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  TRIAL  CONTINUED 

Here  I  must  resort  to  my  own  words  to  describe 
what  followed.  I  had  expected  to  be  questioned 
about  the  photograph,  and  I  was  resolved  to  de- 
scribe it  in  such  a  way  that,  while  not  deviating 
from  the  truth,  I  would  leave  the  court — and  the 
doctor — completely  in  the  dark  concerning  the 
identity  of  the  woman.  But  I  reckoned  without 
the  Prosecuting  Attorney.  To  my  horror,  he 
took  from  the  table  before  him  a  brown  paper 
package  which,  being  unwrapped,  disclosed  the 
very  picture  I  had  left  safely  locked  in  my  desk 
that  morning.  I  learned  afterwards  that  an  offi- 

211 


212  THE  DEATH  CRY 

cer,  armed  with  a  search  warrant,  had  entered  the 
house  and  in  spite  of  America's  angry  protests 
had  gone  straight  to  the  desk  and  obtained  not 
only  the  photograph  but  the  sapphire  bracelet  as 
well.  Mr.  Lippman  required  me  to  identify  the 
picture  as  the  one  I  had  brought  away  from  the 
cemetery,  and  then  he  turned  it  slowly  in  the  di- 
rection of  Dr.  Cuyler. 

There  was  a  breathless  hush  as  the  defendant 
leaned  slightly  forward  to  look  at  it.  There  had 
been  only  an  expressionless  calm  upon  his  face 
up  to  this  time  he  had  not  even  evinced  a  curiosity 
to  see  the  features  of  the  woman  whose  likeness 
had  been  interred  in  his  wife's  grave.  But  as  he 
obtained  a  clear  view  of  the  picture  he  started 
from  his  chair  with  a  low  exclamation. 

There  was  a  significant  pause.    The  state's  at- 


THE  TRIAL  CONTINUED          213 

torney  was  far  too  clever  a  lawyer  to  mar  the  ef- 
fect of  that  revelation  by  a  single  word.  He  merely 
laid  aside  the  photograph  and  turned  to  me  once 
more. 

Q.  "Will  you  tell  the  jury,  Mrs.  Temple,  if 
you  remember  seeing  the  sapphire  bracelet  which 
Dr.  Cuyler  gave  his  wife  on  the  evening  of  her 
death?" 

A.    "I  do." 

Q.    "When  did  you  see  it?" 

A.  "I  saw  it  on  Mrs.  Cuyler's  arm  as  we  stood 
talking  by  the  hedge.  She  removed  it  and  handed 
it  to  me  to  examine." 

Q.    "And  that  was  the  last  you  ever  saw  of  it?" 

There  was  a  pause.  Almost  I  determined  to  an- 
swer "Yes,"  but  the  thought  of  the  oath  I  had 
taken  before  I  sat  in  that  chair  prevented. 


214  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"No,"  I  replied,  "I  have  seen  it  since." 

The  stir  in  the  court  room  showed  the  awakened 
interest  of  the  spectators.  Truly  I  was  proving  an 
exciting  witness. 

Q.  "I  will  ask  you  to  tell  the  jury  when  and 
under  what  circumstances?" 

A.  "I  was  putting  away  some  of  Mrs.  Cuyler's 
clothing  at  the  request  of  her  mother,  and  I  found 
the  bracelet  in  an  inside  pocket  of  the  gown  she 
last  wore." 

Q.    "When  did  you  find  this?" 

A.  "On  June  twenty-first;  the  morning  of  the 
day  I  went  to  the  cemetery." 

Q.  "Did  you  show  the  bracelet  to  Mrs.  Wild- 
ing?" 

A.    "No." 

Q.  "Did  you  notify  the  Prosecuting  Attor- 
ney?" 


THE  TRIAL  CONTINUED          215 

A.    "No." 

Q.    "Or  the  counsel  for  the  defense?" 

A.    "No." 

Q.  "In  fact,  you  did  not  tell  anyone  of  this 
discovery?" 

A.    "No." 

Q.    "Where  did  you  put  this  bracelet?" 

A.    "In  the  desk  in  my  bedroom." 

Q.  "Now,  Mrs.  Temple,  knowing  that  the  loss 
of  this  bracelet  was  a  strong  indication  that  bur- 
glarly  had  been  committed  and  that  Mrs.  Cuyler 
had  been  murdered  in  defense  of  this  jewel,  you 
allowed  the  recovery  of  this  bracelet  to  remain 
unknown — knowing  as  you  did  that  it  removed 
all  idea  of  there  having  been  a  burglar?" 

A.  "The  question  is  somewhat  involved,  but  I 
suppose  I  did  know  that  it  proved  there  had  been 
no  robbery." 


216  THE  DEATH  CRY 

Q.    "And  no  robber?" 

Objection  offered  by  the  defense  on  the  ground 
that  the  question  called  for  an  opinion  and  not 
a  fact.  Objection  overruled. 

A.  "I  did  not — I  do  not  know  there  was  no 
robber." 

Q.    "But  you  think  it  is  likely?" 

Another  objection  by  Mr.  Brewer,  but  before  he 
had  completed  it  I  had  already  replied: 

A.  "I  have  no  opinion  on  the  subject  that  I 
wish  to  offer." 

Q.  "Now,  Mrs.  Temple,  realizing  that  by  re- 
moving the  idea  of  a  robber,  the  evidence  against 
Dr.  Cuyler  was  materially  strengthened,  why  did 
you  conceal  that  bracelet?" 

A.  "I  do  not  admit  that  it  strengthens  any 
evidence  against  Dr.  Cuyler." 


THE  TRIAL  CONTINUED          217 

Q.    "Then  why  did  you  conceal  it?" 

A.  "I  was  waiting  for  the  return  of  my  hus- 
band to  obtain  his  advice  as  to  what  I  had  better 
do  with  it." 

Q.    "Have  you  written  Mr.  Temple  about  it?" 

A.    "I  have  not." 

Q.  "And  yet  you  tell  this  jury  that  you  wished 
his  opinion  about  the  disposal  of  the  bracelet?" 

A.    "I  did,  and  I  do." 

Q.  "That  is  all,  Mrs.  Temple  for  the  present. 
I  shall  recall  you  to  the  stand  later." 

I  sat  down  with  a  hopeless  feeling  that  I  had 
injured  Dr.  Cuyler's  case  irreparably.  I  had  made 
it  perfectly  evident  to  everybody  that  I  had  con- 
cealed the  photograph  and  the  bracelet  because 
I  believed  their  appearance  would  implicate 
Eloise's  husband.  I  couldn't  explain — indeed,  I 


218  THE  DEATH  CRY 

woudn't  have  been  allowed  to  if  I  had  wished — 
that  it  was  because  of  what  they  seemed  to  imply, 
not  because  I  believed  there  was  any  real  guilt 
in  their  presence,  that  I  had  not  turned  them  over 
to  the  state's  attorney.  All  in  all,  I  had  done 
quite  as  much  damage  as  I  feared  I  would.  Oh, 
if  I  only  hadn't  had  to  testify! 

I  was  the  last  witness  on  the  third  day  of  the 
trial,  and  when  court  adjourned  it  was  openly 
said  among  the  spectators  that  the  case  against 
Dr.  Cuyler  looked  very  dark  indeed.  Mrs.  Wild- 
ing and  I  were  allowed  to  speak  to  him  for  a  mo- 
ment after  the  curious  throng  had  pressed  out. 

"I'm  afraid  I've  played  the  mischief  with  your 
case,"  I  told  him  with  a  flippant  attempt  to  cover 
my  emotion.  Dr.  Cuyler's  dark  eyes  met  mine 
with  a  look  of  understanding. 


THE  TRIAL  CONTINUED          219 

"You're  true  blue,  Courtney,"  he  replied,  "but 
you  couldn't  help  yourself  this  morning." 

It  didn't  occur  to  me  until  I  was  nearly  home 
that  he  had  never  called  me  Courtney  before. 
Poor,  poor  Dr.  Cuyler!  I  didn't  care  what  he 
called  me,  but  I  couldn't  help  wondering  if  Mr. 
Lipman  had  overheard  and  attached  his  custom- 
ary significance  to  a  quite  insignificant  fact.  "Give 
a  dog  a  bad  name  and  hang  him."  I  was  applying 
the  proverb  to  my  own  troubles,  but  a  shudder 
passed  over  me  as  I  realized  how  truly  it  applied  to 
Dr.  Cuyler.  An  icy  lump  settled  in  my  breast  as 
I  parted  from  Mrs.  Wilding  and  thankfully  retired 
to  my  own  home  to  hide  my  head. 


CHAPTER  XV 

N.  P/S  BETUBN 

That  evening  at  dinner  I  received  a  belated 
message  from  N.  P.  announcing  that  he  would  be 
home  in  the  morning.  I  was  of  two  minds  about 
going  to  meet  him.  The  train  got  in  at  seven 
thirty,  and  the  early  hour  would  have  been  suffi- 
cient excuse  for  not  going  if  I  had  cared  to  use  it, 
but  I  knew  from  his  telegram  that  he  hoped  to 
find  me  waiting  in  the  Blue  Jay.  It  would  have 
been  the  best  possible  way  to  placate  him.  The 
day  after  that  sensational  account  in  the  paper  I 
would  have  been  down  on  the  platform  in  his 
favorite  frock,  my  hair  done  in  the  tame  little 

fashion  he  likes  best,  when  the  tram  pulled  in. 

220 


N.  P.'S  RETURN  221 

But  three  weeks  had  elapsed  since  then;  three 
weeks  of  strange,  chilling  conduct  on  N.  P.'s  part 
and  of  worry  and  trouble  on  mine,  and  I  was  on 
my  dignity.  So  I  sent  a  taxi  to  the  station  and 
waited  leisurely  at  home  to  receive  him. 

America  had  a  wonderful  breakfast  to  welcome 
him,  waffles  and  broiled  chicken,  and  I  don't  know 
what  all.  She  invariably  kills  the  fatted  capon 
when  he  comes  home,  though  after  he  has  been 
back  a  day  or  two  she  relapses  into  her  customary 
habits,  queer,  dear,  exasperating  old  soul  that 
she  is. 

I  managed  to  delay  my  toilet  so  that  I  was 
just  pinning  my  belt  when  the  taxi  drove  up  to 
the  porte  cochere.  I  peeked  through  the  curtain, 
and  the  moment  N.  P.  stepped  into  view  I  knew 
that  something  had  happened.  He  was  thin — for 


222  THE  DEATH  CRY 

him — so  that  his  clothes  hung  queer  and  loose. 
Then  he  had  the  men  carry  in  his  heavy  suitcase, 
a  most  extraordinary  performance  for  N.  P.,  who 
is  the  kind  that  always  carries  his  own  loads  and 
often  other  people's,  too. 

I  heard  his  hearty  greeting  to  America,  then 
the  usual  question — 

"Where's  Miss  Courtney?"  and  I  left  my  dig- 
nity behind  as  I  ran  downstairs  to  meet  him.  I 
found  him  in  his  favorite  leather  chair  in  the  liv- 
ing room,  fanning  himself  with  his  hat  and  pant- 
ing a  little.  His  face  startled  me,  it  was  so  hollow 
cheeked  and  had  such  dark  circles  under  the  eyes. 

"N.  P.,  you've  been  sick  and  never  told  me," 
I  accused  him  as  I  flung  myself  into  his  arms. 

He  held  me  close  and  patted  me  gently  as  if  I 
were  a  little  girl. 


N.  P.'S  RETURN  223 

"There,  Courtney,  it's  all  right.  Nothing  to 
worry  about  now.  Bless  your  sweet  heart,  I'm 
glad  to  see  you  again!" 

It  was  hard  to  get  a  full  confession  from  him. 
He  was  just  out  of  the  hospital,  he  admitted,  after 
an  operation  for  appendicitis;  a  little  shaky  but 
perfectly  all  right,  he  explained,  and  with  a  clean 
bill  of  health  from  the  doctor  in  San  Francisco. 
The  details  I  had  to  drag  out  of  him  by  the 
hardest. 

He  had  been  seized  with  a  severe  attack  the  day 
after  he  arrived  in  California,  he  told  me.  The 
doctor  had  pronounced  it  appendicitis  and  hustled 
him  off  to  a  hospital,  assuring  him  that  an  im- 
mediate operation  was  imperative.  There  was 
no  time  to  send  for  me,  so  in  order  to  save  me  anx- 
iety N.  P.  had  conceived  the  brilliant  idea  of  dis- 


224  THE  DEATH  CRY 

patching  a  series  of  his  usual  messages,  just  as 
if  nothing  were  the  matter. 

He  wrote  them  all  out  before  he  went  to  the 
operating  room,  and  arranged  at  the  hosptal  to 
have  one  sent  every  day  while  he  was  there.  He 
chuckled  as  he  told  me  of  his  astuteness,  but  it 
struck  me  in  a  different  way.  I  swallowed  hard 
as  I  thought  of  his  unselfish  consideration  for  me 
at  such  a  tune. 

"Oh,  N.  P.,"  I  cried.  "I'm  so  ashamed  I  could 
eat  the  dust.  If  you  knew  all  that's  been  going  on 
here,  and  how  hurt  and  indignant  I've  been  that 
you  didn't  pay  any  attention  to  me!" 

"I  know  now,"  N.  P.  said  grimly,  "but  I  didn't 
get  hold  of  a  paper  until  the  day  I  came  out  of 
the  hospital.  Then  I  took  the  first  train  for 
home." 


N.  P.'S  RETURN  225 

"Didn't  get  hold  of  a  paper?"  I  echoed  him. 
"Why,  I  supposed  you  had  them  every  day.  That's 
why  I  was  so  surprised — and  mad." 

"I  was  mad,  too."  A  whimsical  smile  edged 
along  the  stern  line  of  his  mouth.  "You  see,  it 
was  a  Catholic  hospital,  and  they  had  a  lot  of 
darn  fool  rules  and  regulations;  wouldn't  let  a 
patient  have  the  newspapers,  for  one  thing — too 
stimulating,  they  said.  The  Sisters  make  good 
nurses,  but  my  Lord!  they're  worse  than  America 
to  get  around.  I  tried  to  persuade  and  threaten, 
and  even  to  bribe  them,  but  I  might  as  well  have 
approached  Bunker  Hill  Monument.  As  long  as 
I  was  on  my  back  I  was  helpless  in  their  clutches." 

There  was  something  so  ludicrous  in  the  picture 
of  N.  P.  being  bulldozed  by  a  Catholic  Sister  that 
I  burst  out  laughing.  But  the  thought  of  his  re- 


226  THE  DEATH  CRY 

cent  danger  and  my  childish  lack  of  faith  in  him 
sobered  me  again.  I  might  have  known  there 
was  some  good  reason  for  his  conduct.  N.  P. 
never  had  failed  me  before  when  I  needed  him. 
Why  couldn't  I  have  trusted  him? 

"You  don't  look  to  me  as  if  you  had  any  busi- 
ness to  be  out  of  bed,"  I  told  him  sternly.  "Why 
didn't  you  stay  in  California  until  you  were 
stronger,  and  let  me  come  out  to  take  care  of 
you?" 

"I  expected  to  do  that,  but  the  minute  I  got 
wind  of  Cuyler's  troubles  I  changed  my  mind. 
I  thought  the  place  for  me  was  right  here.  Then 
you  know  I  had  to  come  anyway  when  I  was  sub- 
poenaed." 

"Of  course.  I  hadn't  thought  of  that."  I  stole 
a  sidelong  glance  at  him.  "What — what  do  you 


N.  P.'S  RETURN  227 

think  about  it  all?"  I  volunteered  the  sheepish 
question.  Oh,  what  a  hideous  position  I  was  in, 
smirched,  as  I  felt,  in  N.  P.'s  eyes. 

"What  do  I  think?"  He  flung  around  towards 
me  with  his  customary  vigor.  "I  think  it's  a 
damned  outrage,  that's  what  I  think !  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Courtney,"  he  added  as  an  afterthought. 
"I  forgot  myself  for  a  moment." 

"I  don't  care  if  you  forget  yourself  again.  Some- 
body ought  to  swear  about  it,  and  of  course  I  can't. 
Oh,  N.  P.,  tell  me  truly,  you  don't  blame  me?" 

I  hadn't  meant  to  ask  him  any  such  thing,  but 
somehow  the  question  burst  from  my  lips.  My 
husband  looked  at  me  a  moment  as  though  he 
hadn't  heard  me  aright. 

"Blame  you,  child?"  he  asked  in  a  puzzled  way. 
"What  for?" 


228  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"Didn't  you  see  that  awful  article  in  the  Gazette 
about  Dr.  Cuyler  and  me  ?"  I  faltered. 

A  sudden  change  passed  over  N.  P.'s  face ;  kind 
and  good  as  he  is,  he  looked  for  the  moment  as 
implacable  as  an  Indian.  His  big  fist  clenched  in 
sudden  passion. 

"Yes,  I  saw  it,"  he  admitted.  "I'll  see  Adams 
about  it,  too,  in  good  time.  The  low-down,  sneak- 
ing cur!"  He  broke  off  abruptly  and  checked  his 
rising  wrath.  "We  won't  talk  about  him  now.  He's 
hardly  worth  the  powder  to  blow  him  up." 

I  was  so  relieved  that  I  couldn't  speak  for  a 
moment.  N.  P.  looked  at  me,  and  then  I  think  he 
understood. 

"My  poor  little  girl!"  he  said  softly,  and  I  went 
straight  into  his  arms  again. 

"Don't  let's  talk  about  me,  either,"  I  urged, 


N.  P.'S  RETURN  229 

pressing  my  head  close  to  his  breast.  "I've  been  a 
thousand  different  kinds  of  a  fool,  and  you're  the 
best,  the  dearest — " 

"You-all  comin'  to  breakfus'  dis  mawnin'?" 
America  inquired  from  the  dining  room.  "De 
chicken's  'bout  burnt  up  while  you-all's  lalligagin 
in  dar." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  IRIS  HEDGE 

N.  P.  insisted  on  going  down  to  the  court  room 
as  soon  as  he  had  swallowed  breakfast.  I  was 
not  to  be  recalled  until  the  next  morning,  but  I 
went  along  as  usual  to  sit  with  Mrs.  Wilding.  It 
makes  me  smile  even  now  when  I  think  of  the  stir 
that  N.  P.'s  entrance  into  the  court  room  caused 
that  morning. 

He  marched  boldly  inside  the  inclosure,  ex- 
changed a  warm  handclasp  with  Dr.  Cuyler,  made 
a  great  fuss  about  the  placing  of  my  chair,  and 
then  turned  a  truculent  gaze  on  the  Prosecuting 
Attorney.  It  was  so  exactly  the  look  of  a  boy 

230 


THE  IRIS  HEDGE  231 

who  squares  his  shoulders,  doubles  his  fists  and 
yells,  "Come  on!"  that  for  an  instant  it  seemed 
as  if  the  state's  attorney  would  accept  the  chal- 
lenge. I  watched  them  out  of  the  tail  of  my  eye 
with  a  demure  enough  expression,  but  secretly  I 
was  gloating  over  my  big,  whole-hearted  cham- 
pion. 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  what  a  blessed  relief  it  is 
to  have  you  home,"  I  said  to  him  for  the  hun- 
dredth time  that  evening  when  we  were  enjoying 
an  after-dinner  stroll  about  the  yard.  N.  P. 
beamed  at  my  remark.  I  had  been  telling  him 
all  the  hair-raising  experiences  I  had  been  through 
in  his  absence,  beginning  with  the  anonymous 
letters  and  ending  with  my  tumble  off  the  step- 
ladder  the  night  I  tried  to  lay  America's  "ghos' '' 
in  the  garage. 


232  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"Miss  the  old  man  a  little,  did  you,  eh?"  he  in- 
quired comfortably.  "Strikes  me  somebody's  been 
pretty  plucky  through  it  all,  anyway." 

"Part  of  the  time  it  was  just  a  bluff.  Mrs. 
Wilding's  afraid  of  her  shadow,  poor  little  dear, 
and  somebody  had  to  be  brave.  But  I've  done 
about  all  of  it  I  care  to,  thank  you.  From  now  on 
I'm  going  to  hide  behind  your  coat-tails  every 
time  anybody  says  'scat/  and  I'm  never  going  to 
let  you  get  an  inch  away  from  me  again." 
Arm  in  arm,  we  sauntered  across  the  grass,  laugh- 
ing at  my  foolishness.  Our  vagrant  footsteps 
brought  us  close  to  the  iris  hedge.  With  the  mem- 
ory of  that  starry  night  a  month  ago  when  Eloise 
had  stood  here  with  me,  my  light-hearted  mood 
vanished. 

"It  was  just  here  that  I  saw  Eloise  alive  for 


THE  IRIS  HEDGE  233 

the  last  time,"  I  voiced  the  thought  that  often 
came  to  me.  "She  did  look  so  adorable  that  night, 
like  a  beautiful  flower  herself  among  all  these  sil- 
very blue  blossoms.  Oh,  N.  P.,  why  do  you  suppose 
anyone  would  want  to  kill  her,  so  lovely  and  so 
gracious,  so  charitable  towards  every  soul?  I  don't 
believe  I  ever  heard  her  speak  an  unkind  word 
of  anybody  in  all  the  time  I  knew  her." 

N.  P.  was  idly  poking  in  the  hedge  with  his 
stick,  and  made  no  attempt  to  answer.  He  too  had 
been  fond  of  Eloise.  I  knew  by  his  silence  how 
deeply  my  words  had  touched  him.  We  moved 
along  down  the  hedge,  his  stick  waving  in  and  out 
among  the  long,  swordlike  leaves. 

"I  believe  she  loved  this  hedge  better  than  any- 
thing in  the  whole  garden,"  I  continued  my 
mournful  reverie.  "I  was  really  glad  when  it 


234  THE  DEATH  CRY 

stopped  blooming,  the  fragrance  reminded  me  so  of 
her  and  I  couldn't  get  away  from  it.  It's  all  so 
suggestive  of  her  awful  death." 

A  sudden  shiver  ran  over  me. 

"Don't  think  about  it."  N.  P.  patted  my  shoul- 
der. "Let's  get  away  from  here  if  that's  the  way 
it  makes  you  feel.  Hello,  what's  this?" 

The  silver  tip  of  his  cane  had  come  in  contact 
with  some  hard  object,  and  a  curious  metallic 
sound  resulted.  He  stooped  and  patted  the  dense 
leaves. 

"What  the  dickens?" 

I  bent  over  to  see  what  he  had  brought  to  light. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked,  straining  my  eyes  through 
the  rapidly-falling  dusk. 

"Seems  to  be  some  kind  of  a  vase,"  N.  P.  re- 
plied. 


THE  IRIS  HEDGE  235 

"A  vase?  Eloise's  vase!"  I  cried  with  swift  in- 
tuition. We  examined  it  a  moment  in  startled 
silence.  It  was  indeed  the  bronze  vase  which  had 
disappeared  from  Eloise's  room  the  night  of  her 
death.  Its  heavy  base  was  darkly  stained,  and 
matted  all  around  it  was  a  handful  of  golden  hair. 
Eloise's  hair,  her  lovely,  silky  hair,  smeared  and 
stiffened  with  her  blood! 

"That's  the  thing  he  did  it  with,"  I  shuddered, 
clutching  N.  P.  "Oh,  don't  you  see?  He  must 
have  hidden  it  here  that  night." 

"I  believe  you're  right,"  my  husband  agreed, 
turning  it  thoughtfully  in  his  hand.  "It's  heavy 
enough  to  have  crushed  her  head  like  an  egg- 
shell." 

At  his  words  my  taut  nerves  gave  way,  and 
for  the  first — I  trust  the  last — tune  in  my  life,  I 
thoroughly  and  violently  had  hysterics. 


236  THE  DEATH  CRY 

N.  P.  threw  one  arm  around  me  and  swept  me 
into  the  house,  carefully  holding  the  vase  in  the 
other  hand.  In  the  midst  of  my  excitement  I  re- 
member noticing  that  he  carried  his  arm  stiffly 
outstretched  from  his  body.  I  suppose  even  now 

«S*ffl!**iL:"'  -,     -. 

N.  P.  has  nerves,  though  this  was  the  first  mani- 
festation of  them  I  had  ever  seen. 

He  called  America,  and  with  her  assistance  put 
me  promptly  to  bed.  Thanks  to  their  ministra- 
tions, I  finally  relaxed  and  grew  composed.  N.  P. 
sat  beside  me  for  a  long,  long  time,  his  big  hand 
clasping  mine  while  I  slept  and  dozed  and  waked 
and  dozed  again.  Finally,  I  suppose  I  released 
him  by  falling  asleep  in  earnest.  I  don't  know 
how  long  I  slept,  but  I  awoke  in  the  dark  to  find 
him  gone. 

With  a  confused  idea  as  to  the  tune,  I  switched 


THE  IRIS  HEDGE  237 

on  the  electric  light.  A  glance  at  his  pillow  showed 
that  he  had  not  been  to  bed.  I  hastily  consulted 
the  clock  on  the  bedside  table.  It  was  ten  min- 
utes past  one.  Where  in  the  world  was  N.  P.? 

The  dread  coincidence  of  the  hour  brought  me 
wide  awake.  I  jumped  out  of  bed  and  ran  into 
the  hall  to  call  him.  The  house  was  dark  upstairs 
and  down.  I  pushed  the  button  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs  and  light  flooded  the  lower  hall.  In  an  un- 
reasoning panic  I  ran  swiftly  from  room  to  room, 
calling  his  name. 

He  was  not  in  the  house.  The  thought  of  the 
garage  came  to  me  with  sudden  poignance.  Had 
he  gone  out  there  to  investigate  the  mysterious 
happenings  I  had  told  him  about?  I  unlocked  the 
kitchen  door  and  peered  out  toward  the  garage. 
The  same  faint,  tantalizing  light  that  I  had  seen 


238  THE  DEATH  CRY 

before  shone  from  the  window.  My  heart  beats 
quickened  with  alarm  as  I  stumbled  down  the 
steps  and  over  the  narrow  gravel  walk. 

"N.  P.!"  I  called  sharply.    "Where  are  you?" 

Oh,  the  relief  to  hear  his  blessed  voice,  a  little 
muffled  but  triumphant. 

"All  right,  Courtney,  I've  got  him!  Go  back 
in  the  house  and  call  the  police,  will  you?  Tell 
them  I  have  the  man  who  murdered  Mrs.  Cuy- 
ler." 

The  shock  of  this  announcement  stunned  my 
wits.  I  hurried  into  the  house  and  obediently 
summoned  the  police,  but  I  have  no  idea  what 
I  said.  It  must  have  been  sufficiently  startling, 
for  the  man  at  the  other  end  of  the  line  let  off  a 
series  of  stacatto  exclamations  which  I  did  not 
wait  for  him  to  conclude. 


THE  IRIS  HEDGE  239 

I  heard  N.  P.'s  voice  outside  briskly  admonish- 
ing someone  to  "step  along  there/'  and  I  turned 
with  tightly-locked  hands  to  await  their  entrance. 
My  imagination  raced  ahead  to  meet  some  heavy, 
low-browed  brute,  but  when  the  door  swung  open, 
revealing  N.  P.  with  his  prisoner  in  his  grasp,  I 
leaned  against  the  wall  and  laughed  and  laughed. 

"Oh,  N.  P.,"  I  gasped.  "Is  that  all  you've 
caught?  That's  no  murderer!  That's  —  why, 
that's  the  man  from  Harrowgate's  Flower  Farm." 

The  mild,  spectacled  gaze  of  the  quiet  little 
man  with  whom  I  had  spent  an  hour  in  Eloise's 
garden  met  my  eyes. 

"Flower  nothing!"  N.  P.  growled,  taking  a 
fresh  grip  on  his  captive.  "I  tell  you,  he's  the 
man  who  murdered  Eloise  Cuyler !  He  admits  the 
fact  himself." 


240  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"I  didn't  say  I  murdered  her,"  the  man  pro- 
tested equably.  "I  merely  killed  her,  as  Dr.  Cuyler 
did  my  wife.  An  eye  for  an  eye,  a  head  for  a 
head.  He  is  a  murderer,  if  you  like." 

"What  in  heaven's  name  does  he  mean?" 

I  stared  at  the  shabby  figure,  convinced  that 
the  man  had  lost  his  reason. 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  later,"  my  husband 
said  with  terse  kindness.  "Meanwhile  I  hear 
the  patrol,  and  if  you  don't  want  to  appear  in 
that  pink  thing  you  have  on — " 

It  was  maddening,  but  I  heard  myself  the  clang 
clang  of  the  police  motor  as  it  dashed  up  to  our 
door,  and  I  had  barely  time  to  gain  the  upper 
floor  before  the  men  began  to  file  in. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  MAN  IN  THE  GARAGE 

Why  I  didn't  expire  of  curiosity  and  suspense 
during  the  remainder  of  that  night,  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know.  N.  P.  went  down  to  the  police  sta- 
tion with  his  prisoner,  and  later  to  the  jail,  where 
he  breakfasted  with  the  doctor.  He  telephoned 
me  from  there  that  everything  was  all  right  and 
that  he'd  be  home  later  to  explain — precious  poor 
consolation  in  my  state  of  mind.  I  waited  on 
tenterhooks  until  he  returned  somewhere  towards 
the  middle  of  the  morning. 

"Just  about  ready  to  burst,  aren't  you,  Court- 
ney?" he  greeted  me  as  I  ran  down  the  steps  to 

241 


242  THE  DEATH  CRY 

meet  him.  "  'Twas  a  shame  to  go  off  that  way 
and  leave  you  in  the  dark,  but  I  reckon  you'll 
forgive  me  when  I  tell  you  how  it  all  happened." 

"Better  be  quick  about  it,  then,"  I  recom- 
mended. "Come  on  the  porch  where  I  have  some- 
thing nice  and  cool  for  you  to  drink.  You  can 
tell  me  everything  while  you're  getting  rested. 
Poor  dear,  you  look  so  hot  and  tired." 

He  followed  me  obediently.  When  I  had  him 
comfortably  established,  the  electric  fan  buzzing 
over  his  head,  the  ice  tinkling  in  his  glass,  I  felt 
that  patience  had  ceased  to  be  a  virtue. 

"Now  commence!  Why?  How?  No — first  of 
all,  tell  me  if  Dr.  Cuyler  is  free?" 

"Yes,  thank  the  Lord!"  was  the  fervent  answer. 
I  did  wish  that  rapscallion  editor  of  the  Gazette 
could  have  seen  the  expression  on  N.  P.'s  face 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  GARAGE        243 

51  "  •  ;, 

at  that  moment.  He  certainly  wouldn't  have  be- 
lieved him  a  very  jealous  husband  then. 

"Well,  that's  all  right  then.  Now  begin  with 
what  you  did  after  I  went  to  sleep  last  night." 

"After  you  went  to  sleep  last  night?  Let  me 
think  a  moment.  Oh,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  did.  I 
went  over  to  the  doctor's  yard  and  looked  at  the 
house.  That  bell  story  had  been  on  my  mind 
ever  since  you  told  me  about  it,  and  I  was  deter- 
mined to  find  out  the  cause  of  the  noise.  An  elec- 
tric bell  doesn't  ring  without  a  wire  connected 
somewhere,  and  it  was  that  wire  I  was  looking 
for.  I  found  it  without  any  difficulty.  It  was 
wound  inconspicuously  about  the  wire  leading 
from  the  doctor's  garage  to  the  house.  The  cook 
was  still  in  the  kitchen,  so  I  went  in  and  told 
her  I  wanted  to  do  a  little  investigating.  For  a 


244  THE  DEATH  CRY 

bit  I  could  find  no  bell,  but  after  poking  around 
awhile  I  discovered  one  very  cleverly  hidden  be- 
neath a  shelf. 

I  went  back  out  to  the  Cuylers'  garage  and 
made  a  careful  search,  but  I  could  find  nothing. 
The  wire  came  through  a  crack  in  the  outside  wall 
and  disappeared  in  the  flooring.  I  examined  that 
carefully  for  loose  boards,  but  there  weren't  any. 
Then  I  went  inside  and  continued  my  investiga- 
tions. And  here  I  was  more  successful.  It  was 
a  good  thing  we  put  off  cementing  the  floor  until 
old  Hunt  could  do  the  job,  for  it  was  due  to  the 
wood  flooring  that  I  discovered  what  I  did.  I 
pulled  at  the  boards  near  the  spot  on  my  side 
where  the  wire  entered  the  floor  on  the  other 
side.  And  sure  enough,  one  board  was  loose.  I 
pried  it  up,  and  the  next  one  to  it  as  well.  What 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  GARAGE         245 

do  you  think  I  found?  A  nice  little  storage  bat- 
tery all  complete,  and  arranged  so  that  by  means 
of  a  key  switch  the  man  was  able  to  ring  the  bell 
in  the  Cuylers'  pantry." 

"I  just  knew  it  was  something  like  this,"  I  ex- 
claimed triumphantly.  "Of  course,  I  wouldn't 
have  had  the  gumption  to  work  it  all  out  the 
way  you  did,  but  if  Mrs.  Wilding  had  only  been 
willing  to  let  me  look — " 

"I'm  just  as  glad  she  didn't,"  N.  P.  said  quietly. 
'Wait  until  I  tell  you  the  rest.  It  was  about  ten 
o'clock  then,  so  I  came  up  on  the  porch  to  have 
a  cigar  and  think  things  over  while  I  waited  for 
the  ghost  to  walk.  If  you  remember,  it  was  al- 
ways later  than  eleven-thirty  when  he  appeared, 
but  I  thought  I'd  take  up  my  quarters  before 
then.  I  remembered  your  experience,  and  I  de- 


246  THE  DEATH  CRY 

cided  to  make  the  garage  my  base  of  operations. 
For  the  life  of  me,  I  couldn't  see  how  the  fellow 
got  into  the  place  when  it  was  locked.  But  I 
meant  to  find  out  that  evening.  So  in  about  an 
hour  I  went  quietly  down  there,  making  myself 
as  inconspicuous  as  possible  in  case  anyone  was 
looking  that  way  from  across  the  street.  I  crawled 
into  a  corner  behind  a  linen  robe  that  was  lying 
there — nice  warm  spot  to  spend  a  summer  night! 
I  suppose  I'd  been  there  another  hour  when  I 
heard  a  noise  that  made  me  sit  up  and  take  notice. 
It  seemed  to  come  from  the  garage,  and  yet  it 
didn't.  I  peered  cautiously  out  from  a  corner  of 
the  robe  and  strained  my  eyes  to  see.  It  was 
pretty  dark  in  there,  only  the  starlight  from  the 
window  making  things  visible  at  all,  but  my  eyes 
were  well  accustomed  to  it,  and  I  could  make  out 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  GARAGE         247 

nearly  the  whole  place.  The  noise  seemed  to  come 
from  about  where  the  battery  was,  and  I  glued  my 
gaze  to  that  spot.  First  thing  you  know,  one  of 
the  big  partition  boards  between  the  rooms  bent 
slowly  in,  and  your  ghost  wiggled  through  the 
opening.  The  fellow  had  worked  there  before  until 
he  had  drawn  all  the  nails  in  the  boards  where  they 
were  fastened  to  the  beam  above,  and  it  was  an 
easy  matter  for  him  to  replace  them  after  he  left 
each  night. 

I  had  him  covered  from  under  the  robe,  but  I 
wanted  to  see  what  he  was  up  to,  so  I  lay  low 
and  waited.  He  had  a  small  electric  torch  with 
him,  and  he  put  this  on  the  floor  and  began  to 
pull  up  the  loose  flooring  where  his  storage  battery 
was  hid.  When  he  had  it  all  uncovered  he  pulled 
out  his  watch  and  commenced  to  talk  to  himself 
in  a  low,  meditative  tone." 


248  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"What  did  he  say?"  I  aked  with  deep  interest. 

"Oh,  nothing  very  intelligible.  He  muttered  a 
great  string  of  nonsense  about  'a  life  for  a  life  and 
an  eye  for  an  eye.' ' 

"And  'a  head  for  a  head',"  I  burst  in.  "I  know. 
I  heard  him  say  that,  too." 

"I  didn't  hear  him  say  anything  about  a  head. 
You  must  have  imagined  that,"  N.  P.  corrected 
me.  "There  wouldn't  have  been  any  sense  in 
that." 

"There  isn't  any  sense  in  any  of  it,  as  far  as  I 
can  see.  Well,  go  on." 

"Where  was  I,  anyhow?  You  do  interrupt  so, 
Courtney.  Oh,  yes,  and  then  he  said,  'Once  more 
at  the  joyful  hour  will  the  bell  peal  forth  its  paean 
of  victory.'  I  didn't  know  what  tune  it  was  get- 
ting to  be,  but  I  didn't  want  him  ringing  that  bell 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  GARAGE        249 

again,  so  I  just  stepped  out  and  said,  'Hands  up, 
there!'  He  didn't  jump  or  yell,  as  I  thought  he 
might.  He  just  turned  around  as  quietly  as  pos- 
sible and  asked,  'Who  are  you?  The  owner  of  this 
garage?' 

"  'Yes/  I  told  him.    'And  who  might  you  be?' 

"  'Oh,  nobody  in  particular,'  "  he  replied  very 
casually. 

"  'What  are  you  doing  in  here?' ' 

"  'I'm  preparing  to  celebrate  a  victory,' "  he 
told  me.  "  'I  peal  the  bell  of  triumph  every  night 
at  ten  minutes  past  one.' ' 

"  Wei,  this  is  one  night  you  won't  peal  it.  What 
are  you  celebrating  with  your  bell?' ' 

"  'I've  done  unto  my  enemy  even  as  he  did 
unto  me,'  he  half  sang,  half  chanted.  'I've  waited 
long,  long  years  to  mete  out  justice,  but  my  tune 


250  THE  DEATH  CRY 

came  at  last,  and  now  the  doctor  knows  what  it 
means  to  a  man  to  lay  his  wife  cold  in  her  grave, 
her  head  crushed  in  by  the  hand  of  a  murderer.' ' 

"N.  P.,  did  you  ever  hear  of  anything  so  ex- 
traordinary? Why,  he  must  be  a  raving  ma- 
niac!" 

"That's  just  what  he  is,"  N.  P.  informed  me 
quietly.  "I  felt  sure  of  it  as  I  listened  to  his  weird 
intoning  and  watched  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  dilate. 
I  resolved  to  be  cautious.  I  jumped  from  behind 
and  grabbed  him  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck,  but 
he  didn't  offer  any  resistance.  Poor  skinny  little 
beggar,  it  wouldn't  have  done  him  much  good  if  he 
had.  Just  about  that  time  I  heard  you  calling 
outside,  so  I  marched  him  into  the  house — and  you 
know  the  rest." 

"Oh,  but  I  don't!    That's  only  the  beginning! 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  GARAGE        251 

Go  on  and  tell  me  what  happened  after  you  took 
him  to  the  police  station." 

N.  P.  drew  a  long  sigh  and  looked  regretfully 
at  the  morning  paper. 

"You  going  to  keep  me  talking  all  the  rest  of 
the  day?  Haven't  you  any  mercy  on  a  fellow, 
Courtney?" 

"Not  a  bit.  You're  just  getting  to  the  interest- 
ing point.  Go  on  and  tell  me  what  happened 
down  at  the  court  house.  What  did  the  Prosecut- 
ing Attorney  say?" 

N.  P.  chuckled.  "Well,  I  suppose  you  would 
enjoy  hearing  that  part  of  it.  I  understand  that 
there's  no  love  lost  between  you  and  Mr.  Lipp- 
man.  Before  I  notified  the  state's  attorney  I  went 
first  to  Mr.  Brewer — got  him  out  of  bed,  in  fact, 
to  do  it.  And  he  and  I  mapped  out  a  nice  little 


252  THE  DEATH  CRY 

surprise  for  our  legal  friend.  You'd  never  suspect 
it,  but  Brewer  conceals  a  dramatic  instinct  that 
glories  in  such  a  situation  as  he  planned. 

"We  told  no  one  of  the  identity  of  our  captive; 
just  informed  the  police  captain  that  we  had  a 
dangerous  lunatic  we  wanted  safely  cared  for 
until  morning.  Fortunately  you  were  so  excited 
when  you  telephoned  last  night  that  they  got 
the  impression  at  the  station  I  had  been  mur- 
dered, and  you  were  holding  the  murderer.  Then 
we  let  Lippman  get  out  his  nice  long  rope  in  court 
this  morning  to  carry  out  his  own  execution,  which 
he  did  to  the  queen's  taste.  This  was  the  day  he 
was  to  charge  the  jury,  you  know,  and  he  did  it 
with  a  vengeance.  I  give  you  my  word  by  the 
tune  he  had  drawn  the  picture  of  Cuyler  as  he  saw 
him  and  as  he  expected  the  jury  to  see  him,  I 


THE  MAN  IN  THE  GARAGE         253 

:'-"•-'-.'      A        .  r .  ? .  •  •  2 

didn't  recognize  old  Vincent.    He  wound  up  his 

impassioned  speech  with  the  demand — 

"  'Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  if  this  man  before 

you  now,  hanging  his  head  in  guilty  shame,  did 

•• 

not  murder  his  wife,  who  did?  I  ask  you  that, 
gentlemen,  who  did?' 

"Mr.  Brewer  hoisted  himself  from  his  chair  and 
said  smoothly: 

"  'If  you  really  would  like  to  know  so  badly, 

•'if    '0^01 

Mr.  Lippman,  this  person  here  at  my  left  did.' 

"George!  It  was  great,  Courtney!  The  judge, 
the  jury,  Mr.  Lippman,  Dr.  Cuyler  and  every 
person  in  the  court  room  whirled  around  as  though 
they  had  been  shot,  and  stared  at  the  poor  little 
wretch  standing  by  Brewer,  handcuffed  and  with 
a  big  policeman  at  his  back." 
"Oh,  dear,  I  wish  I'd  been  there  to  see  it.  Why 


254  THE  DEATH  CRY 

didn't  you  send  me  word  what  was  happening?" 
I  reproached  my  husband.  N.  P.  looked  at  me 
and  hesitated. 

"I  did  think  about  it,  but  I  concluded  maybe 
the  excitement  would  be  too  much  for  you.  Be- 
sides, after  all  the  notoriety  of  the  affair,  I  thought 
perhaps  you'd  just  as  soon  offer  your  congratula- 
tions to  Cuyler  in  a  less  public  place,"  he  finished 
so  firmly  that  I  knew  it  was  useless  to  argue  with 
him.  I  was  sorry,  of  course,  for  I  would  have 
dearly  loved  to  be  in  at  the  finish,  but  as  that 
was  the  only  reference  N.  P.  ever  made  to  the 
scandalous  rumors  about  the  doctor  and  myself, 
I  felt  I  owed  him  acquiescence. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  MOTIVE 

Dr.  Cuyler  released  from  jail  and  the  guilty 
man  confined  in  his  stead,  there  remained  only 
the  motive  for  the  murder  to  be  explained.  N.  P. 
and  I  went  together  to  welcome  the  doctor  home, 
and  in  order  to  mitigate  as  much  as  we  could 
the  sadness  of  this  homecoming,  we  carried  them 
all  back  to  dinner  with  us. 

Afterwards  we  sat  out  on  the  verandah  a  long 
time,  a  curiously  relaxed  and  tranquil  group,  like 
weary  mariners  who  have  made  port  after  a  stormy 
voyage.  The  ache  of  longing  for  Eloise  was  with 
us  all,  but  only  time  could  lessen  that. 

255 


256  THE  DEATH  CRY 

It  was  not  until  Mariechen  had  nodded  off  to 
sleep,  her  yellow  head  against  her  father's  breast, 
that  we  approached  the  mystery.  I  had  been 
thinking  of  the  quiet  little  man  who  had  instructed 
me  about  the  iris  bulbs.  It  didn't  seem  possible 
that  he  could  have  perpetrated  such  a  bloody  deed. 
Suddenly  almost  without  my  volition,  a  question 
slipped  past  my  lips. 

"Dr.  Cuyler,  do  you  suppose  there  is  any  proba- 
bility that  man  will  ever  regain  his  senses  enough 
to  realize  what  he  has  done?" 

"It  is  hard  to  say,  Mrs.  Temple.  I  had  supposed 
he  was  quite  sane  for  some  time.  He  was  dis- 
missed from  the  asylum  a  number  of  years  ago." 
Dr.  Cuyler  spoke  with  some  constraint  and  so 
sadly  that  I  regretted  my  question.  I  was  about 
to  change  the  subject  when  N.  P.  shook  himself 


THE  MOTIVE  257 

out  of  the  funny  silence  of  his  pipe  and  remarked : 

"Curious  thing  how  the  fellow  managed  to  de- 
ceive everyone  about  himself  so  long,  eh,  Cuy- 
ler?" 

"I  presume  he  was  only  insane  on  the  one  sub- 
ject. That  very  often  happens.  A  man  may  be 
rational  enough  ordinarily,  and  yet  be  demented 
along  a  certain  line.  In  his  case  it  was  the  idea 
of  revenge  he  brooded  over  all  these  years." 

No  one  made  any  reply  to  this.  We  all  realized 
on  what  delicate  ground  we  trod.  It  remained  for 
Dr.  Cuyler  himself  to  guide  us  through  the  laby- 
rinth of  the  past. 

"A  few  weeks  ago  nothing  could  have  per- 
suaded me  that  I  would  ever  discuss  this  matter 
with  anyone,"  he  said  after  a  little  minute.  "Not 
even  with  my  family  or  such  friends  as  you  dear 


258  THE  DEATH  CRY 

Temples  have  been.  I  never  spoke  of  it  to  Eloise ; 
not  only  because  I  wanted  to  spare  her  the  painful 
knowledge,  but  because  it  was  so  unspeakably 
bitter  to  me." 

At  his  tone  all  my  curiosity  ebbed  away. 

"Don't  try  to  talk  about  it  now,"  I  begged.  "As 
long  as  you're  free,  what  does  it  matter?" 

"I'd  rather  tell  you,"  he  insisted.  "It  is  much 
better  for  you  and  N.  P.  and  for  Mother  Wilding 
too  to  know.  I  feel  now  that  perhaps  I've  made 
a  mistake  to  try  to  hide  it  all  these  years.  At  any 
rate,  there  shall  be  no  further  mystery.  We've 
had  enough  of  them  already." 

"Dear  Vincent,"  Mrs.  Wilding  stirred  uneasily 
in  her  chair.  "There  are  some  mysteries  that  can 
never  be  explained." 

I  knew  she  was  thinking  of  the  midnight  bell 


THE  MOTIVE  259 

whose  ringing  she  attributed  to  the  supernatural. 
I  wondered  if  she  would  be  any  happier  for  the 
logical  explanation.  Whether  she  would  or  not, 
there  was  no  time  to  tell  her  now,  for  the  doctor 
had  already  commenced. 

"I  have  to  go  back  to  the  outset  of  my  profes- 
sional career  to  tell  you  of  my  first  acquaintance 
with  this  man  whom  N.  P.  found  in  the  garage 
last  night.  I  knew  him  well  at  one  tune,  then 
he  went  out  of  my  life,  and  for  years  I  have  not 
seen  him — nor  thought  of  him  any  oftener  than 
I  could  help."  Dr.  Cuyler  spoke  with  visible 
effort,  but  he  had  steeled  himself  to  the  painful 
story,  and  he  went  on. 

"I  first  began  to  practice  medicine  in  a  small 
town  in  Pennsylvania,  where  for  awhile  I  had 
only  the  usual  rounds  of  births,  deaths,  mumps 


260  THE  DEATH  CRY 

and  chicken  pox.  It  was  good  experience  for  a 
young  fellow,  but  I  was  more  interested  in  sur- 
gery, intending  to  specialize  in  that  later,  and  I 
waited  with  considerable  impatience  for  what  I 
considered  a  real  opportunity  to  show  my  mettle." 

"But  you  never  do  any  surgery  now,"  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"I'm  coming  to  that  presently,"  Dr.  Cuyler  re- 
plied, and  again  I  wished  that  I  had  not  spoken 
so  hastily. 

"This  opportunity  came  at  last  in  a  strange,  ill- 
fated  way.  My  next-door  neighbor  was  a  man 
named  Post — Andrew  Post — who  conducted  a 
small  nursery  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  He 
was  a  kindly,  likable  fellow,  with  a  great  love  for 
his  work  and  a  tremendous  fund  of  information 
about  all  growing  things.  He  had  married  rather 


THE  MOTIVE  261 

above  himself,  I  gathered,  and  as  so  often  hap- 
pens in  such  cases,  he  fairly  worshiped  his  wife. 

"She  was  rather  a  handsome  woman,  as  I  remem- 
ber— I  didn't  know  her  as  well  as  I  did  him — and 
though  she  had  more  education  than  he,  they 
appeared  to  be  very  congenial.  I  often  used  to 
watch  them  working  together  about  their  place 
and  think  what  a  happy  couple  they  were.  A 
young  bachelor,  you  know,  is  apt  to  be  interested 
in  the  newly  married. 

"One  morning  Post  appeared  at  my  office  in  a 
state  of  great  agtation.  His  wife  had  not  been 
well  for  several  weeks.  She  was  suffering  terribly 
with  her  head  that  morning.  Would  I  come  over 
at  once  and  attend  her? 

"I  examined  her  carefully  and  found  that  she 
had  a  tumor  at  the  base  of  the  brain  which  re- 
quired immediate  attention. 


262  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"Here  was  the  very  opportunity  for  which  I 
had  waited.  I  took  Post  aside  and  explained  the 
situation.  I  told  him  the  operation  was  not  neces- 
sarily dangerous,  and  I  knew  that  I  was  fully 
competent  to  perform  it,  but  if  he  preferred  to 
call  someone  from  the  city  to  go  ahead  and  do  so. 
He  was  aghast  at  my  information — went  all  to 
pieces  for  a  bit,  in  fact,  but  clung  to  me  and 
showed  no  desire  to  call  in  anyone  else.  How- 
ever, he  opposed  the  operation  with  all  the  fear 
and  distrust  that  is  peculiar  to  his  class.  I  had 
a  great  time  overcoming  his  prejudice,  he  was 
so  sure  that  the  operation  meant  death  to  his 
wife.  I  had  to  explain  to  him  over  and  over 
that  she  would  certainly  die  if  we  didn't  operate. 
Finally  I  convinced  him. 

"There  was  no  hospital  hi  town,  so,  to  save 


THE  MOTIVE  263 

Post  a  lot  of  extra  expense,  I  offered  to  perform 
the  operation  in  their  home.  I  sent  for  a  nurse, 
and  had  Mrs.  Post's  bedroom  carefully  prepared 
under  my  supervision.  You  see,  this  being  my  first 
operation  and  one  of  considerable  magnitude,  I 
intended  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  make  it 
a  success.  And  yet — and  yet — well,  it's  useless 
to  speculate  now.  I  will  just  tell  you  the  facts. 

"Post  insisted  upon  being  present  when  I  oper- 
ated, and  though  my  better  judgment  told  me 
to  refuse  him,  he  was  so  insistent  that  in  the  end 
I  let  him  stay.  That  was  my  first  mistake.  My 
second  was  in  bearing  the  responsibility  alone. 

"Mrs.  Post  took  the  anaesthetic  nicely,  and  I 
began  my  work.  I  found  conditions  even  worse 
than  I  had  anticipated.  I  won't  go  into  a  scien- 
tific explanation;  indeed,  it  would  be  impossible 


264  THE  DEATH  CRY 

to  explain  how  the  thing  happened.  There  were 
great  quantities  of  blood,  and  though  the  nurse 
sponged  it  away  as  rapidly  as  possible,  it  inter- 
fered greatly  with  my  vision.  Enough  to  tell  you 
that  I  made  a  wrong  cut  and  severed  the  nerves 
of  respiration.  I  knew  instantly  what  I  had  done, 
but  there  was  no  help.  She  died  in  a  moment 
while  I  stood  looking  at  her,  my  blood-stained  in- 
strument hi  my  hand.  Post  did  not  fail  to  per- 
ceive the  change  in  her  breathing,  and  turned  on 
me  like  a  madman. 

"  'You've  killed  her!'  he  shouted,  his  face  livid 
and  his  eyes  ablaze.  'You  black-hearted  butcher, 
you've  killed  my  wife!" 

"Vincent!"  A  shocked,  frightened  wail  came 
from  Mrs.  Wilding. 

"Oh,  you  poor  boy!"  I  heard  myself  exclaim- 


THE  MOTIVE  265 

ing.  N.  P.  got  out  of  his  chair  and  marched  over 
to  lay  a  hand  on  Dr.  Cuyler's  shoulder. 

"By  George,  old  fellow!"  he  said  in  a  voice  of 
deepest  sympathy. 

Dr.  Cuyler  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  us 
with  a  tragic  face. 

"I  couldn't  deny  it,  you  know,"  he  said  quietly. 
"I  felt  myself  to  be  as  surely  that  woman's  mur- 
derer as  though  I  had  wilfully  struck  her  down. 
The  rest  is  a  hideous  nightmare.  I  offered  to  do 
anything  I  could,  assume  all  expense,  but  Post 
would  have  none  of  me.  From  the  moment  his 
wife  expired  he  turned  against  me  with  the  most 
intense  hatred.  I  was  obliged  to  to  leave  him 
finally  in  the  hands  of  his  friends. 

"I  went  back  to  my  office  in  an  agony  of  self 
reproach.  Of  course,  the  little  town  buzzed  with 


266  THE  DEATH  CRY 

the  affair,  but  no  movement  was  taken  to  bring 
action  against  me.  I  doubt,  anyway,  if  there  could 
have  been.  I  kept  to  the  house  the  next  few 
days,  dismissing  the  few  patients  who  rallied  loy- 
ally about  me. 

"The  day  of  the  funeral  I  stood  at  my  window 
and  watched  the  white  casket  as  it  was  borne  to 
the  hearse.  Post  walked  just  behind  it,  a  stricken 
man.  As  he  reached  the  sidewalk  he  turned,  in 
the  face  of  all  the  people,  and  shook  both  clenched 
fists  at  my  door.  It  was  a  startling  demonstra- 
tion which,  as  I  recall  it  now,  was  but  the  germ 
of  his  long-meditated  revenge. 

"That  night  I  was  awakened  by  a  knocking 
at  my  door,  and  when  I  went  to  open  it  I  found 
Andrew  Post  in  his  night  clothes,  a  raving,  gib- 
bering maniac.  I  managed  to  overpower  him  and 


THE  MOTIVE  267 

keep  him  in  my  office  until  I  had  summoned  help. 
The  next  day  he  was  taken  to  the  insane  asylum, 
where  he  remained  several  years.  I  sold  out  my 
office  and  left  town  immediately  after  this.  But  I 
kept  in  touch  with  the  authorities  of  the  asylum, 
feeling  that  I  was  responsible  for  his  condition 
and  wishing  to  make  what  feeble  reparation  I 
could  by  assuming  his  obligations.  Later  I  went 
to  Europe.  He  was  discharged  while  I  was  travel- 
ing abroad,  and  though  I  tried  to  find  him  as 
soon  as  I  returned,  I  was  not  able  to  learn  any- 
thing concerning  him.  I  supposed  that  he  was 
cured  and  no  longer  in  need  of  financial  aid.  So 
I  closed  the  chapter  on  that  fearful  experience, 
fondly  believing  that  I  need  never  open  it  again. 

"Time,  and  experience  gamed  in  European  hos- 
pitals, opened  a  wider  outlook  to  me.    I  had  gone 


268  THE  DEATH  CRY 

abroad  intending  to  study  music,  art,  china  paint- 
ing— anything  but  my  profession.  But  I  could 
not  keep  away  from  it.  In  spite  of  that  first  dread- 
ful experience,  I  could  not  withstand  its  irresist- 
ible attraction.  Finally  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
return  to  America  and  begin  over,  but  I  promised 
myself  that  I  would  never  undertake  surgical 
work  again,  and  I  never  have.  It  was  the  penalty 
that  I  intended  to  pay  for  my  mistake.  I  thought 
it  was  sufficiently  heavy,  but  Post,  you  see, 
thought  not.  Circumstances  brought  me  here, 
where  I  opened  an  office  and  where  the  happiest 
years  of  my  life  have  been  spent.  I  need  not 
tell  you  that  this  shadow  of  my  youth  has  re- 
mained ever  with  me.  A  man  doesn't  outlive  a 
thing  like  that,  but  happiness,  success,  the  will 
to  forget  did  push  it  into  the  background  of  my 


THE  MOTIVE  269 

consciousness.  I  had  not  thought  of  the  Posts 
in  some  weeks  before  Eloise's  death.  After  that 
I  could  think  of  nothing  but  her." 

The  Doctor  drew  a  long  breath,  and  I  knew 
the  weight  of  confession  was  lifted  from  him. 

"Even  when  those  anonymous  letters  appeared 
with  their  lurid  allusions  to  my  past,  it  never  oc- 
curred to  me  to  connect  them  with  Post.  He 
told  me  today  that  he  had  been  on  my  trail  for 
years,  that  he  had  come  here  to  live  with  the 
sole  purpose  of  revenge,  but  as  I  never  happened 
to  run  across  him  I  coudn't  know  that.  You 
remember,  Mrs.  Temple,  the  afternoon  of  our 
drive,  the  day  I  was  arrested,  that  I  picked  up 
a  piece  of  paper  with  a  name  on  it?" 

I  nodded.    "Ruenna,  wasn't  it?" 

"That  was  her  name,  Mrs.  Post's,  I  mean.    It's 


270  THE  DEATH  CRY 

very  unusual.  I  have  never  heard  it  in  connec- 
tion with  anyone  but  her.  And  it  naturally  re- 
vived painful  memories.  If  my  arrest  hadn't 
followed  immediately  on  that  ride  and  knocked 
all  other  thoughts  out  of  my  head,  I  think  that 
scrap  of  paper  might  have  set  me  wondering. 
That  was  the  last  I  knew  of  Post  until  the  other 
day  in  court,  when  Lippman  produced  that  pho- 
tograph of  Mrs.  Post.  So  when  N.  P.  turned  up 
this  morning  with  Post,  whom  I  hadn't  seen  in 
twelve  years,  in  his  clutches,  it  was  as  great  a 
surprise  to  me  as  to  anyone.  I  realize  that  I 
have  been  singularly  lacking  in  perception  about 
it  all,  but  my  brain  seems  to  have  been  benumbed 
lately." 

"Did  you  have  any  talk  with  this  Post?"  I 
asked  hurriedly,  to  cover  the  doctor's  painful 
pause. 


THE  MOTIVE  271 

"A  little,  yes.  He  admitted  the  crime  freely. 
Seemed  to  have  no  compunction  about  it.  Re- 
venge had  got  to  be  an  idee  fixe  with  him.  Through 
his  work  at  the  florist's  he  found  an  opportunity 
to  call  upon  Eloise  and  familiarize  himself  with 
the  place.  The  rest  was  a  matter  of  chance  and 
cunning.  His  hour  came  and  he  improved  it.  It 
was  my  wife  for  his." 

Dr.  Cuyler's  stern  composure  trembled.  The 
anguish  of  his  thought  shook  us  all.  After  a  mo- 
ment he  mastered  himself  and  went  on  evenly. 

"The  man  is  insane,  of  course.  That  accounts 
for  all  the  extraordinary  things  that  have  been 
disturbing  you,  Mrs.  Temple.  The  letters,  the 
commotion  in  the  garage — and  all.  He  seems 
not  to  have  been  able  to  keep  away  from  the 
place." 


272  THE  DEATH  CRY 

"It  accounts  for  everything,"  I  said  excitedly. 
"I  might  have  suspected  long  ago  if  I'd  had  any 
wits  at  all.  No  one  but  a  person  utterly  insane 
would  have  thought  of  doing  all  the  impossible 
things  that  have  happened  here  in  the  last  four 
weeks." 

"Yes,  I  think  it  explains  everything,"  the  doc- 
tor agreed  wearily.  "Post  builded  better  than  he 
knew.  His  idea  of  revenge  at  first  carried  him 
no  further  than  exact  retribution.  Later,  when 
suspicion  began  to  point  to  me,  he  conceived  the 
idea  that  it  lay  in  his  power  to  further  that  sus- 
picion, and  he  did  so,  delightedly.  He  frankly 
acknowledged  this  to  me.  Between  his  machina- 
tions and  one  or  two  old  coincidences,  like  Ross- 
baum's  disappearance — he  returned  this  morn- 
ing, by  the  way — the  police  were  able  to  make 
quite  a  showing  against  me. 


THE  MOTIVE  273 

"I've  taken  the  matter  up  with  Lippman,  and 
the  case  is  to  be  dismissed,  as,  of  course,  Post  can- 
not be  prosecuted.  He  is  to  be  sent  to  the  state 
asylum  tomorrow.  I  need  not  ask  my  two  best 
friends  to  keep  the  reason  for  his  enmity  in- 
violate. As  far  as  I  myself  am  concerned,  I  feel 
now  that  it  doesn't  matter;  but  for  Mariechen's 
sake  I  would  like  to  put  it  all  away  from  me." 

He  looked  at  the  sleeping  child  with  a  grave, 
tender  expression,  then  rose  and  brought  her  over 
to  me. 

"We  must  be  going  home,"  he  said.  "Will  you 
hold  her  a  moment  while  I  help  mother?" 

Mariechen  roused  a  little  at  the  transfer,  but 
settled  herself  comfortably  for  another  nap. 

"Want  to  stay  wiv  Auntie  Court,"  she  whim- 
pered, snuggling  closer  in  my  arms  as  her  father 


274  THE  DEATH  CRY 

came  to  take  her.  If  I  had  prompted  the  speech 
myself,  nothing  could  have  better  exemplified  my 
relations  to  the  Cuyler  family.  Dr.  Cuyler  smiled 
at  N.  P.  as  he  took  the  child  from  me. 

"You'll  have  to  adopt  us  all,  I  think,"  he  said. 
"We  don't  seem  able  to  get  along  without  Mrs. 
Temple." 

I  watched  them  cross  the  lawn,  Mariechen's 
sleepy  head  nodding  over  his  shoulder,  Mrs.  Wild- 
ing clinging  to  his  arm.  With  those  two  helpless 
legacies  from  Eloise  dependent  upon  his  affection 
and  care,  I  felt  with  thankfulness  that  he  would 
still  find  life  worth  living.  And  it  was  due  to  N. 
P/s  blundering  cleverness  that  this  was  possible. 

I  turned  with  a  rush  of  feeling  to  tell  him  so, 
but  N.  P.  was  not  there.  I  glanced  in  at  the  win- 
dow and  began  to  laugh — with  a  whole-hearted 


* 

' 

THE  MOTIVE  275 

enjoyment  I  had  not  known  since  Elolse  died.  N. 
P.  was  stodged  into  his  favorite  leather  chair.  All 
the  lights  in  the  room  were  blazing.  Peace  shone 
on  his  face;  every  line  of  his  big  figure  radiated 
content.  Madness,  mystery  and  murder  alike  for- 
gotten, N.  P.  was  deep  in  his  evening  paper. 

THE  END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  U8RARY  FACILITY 


A     000  043  700    4 


